


Ditzy Dad Type, or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Dilf

by babyhal



Category: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Space Odyssey Series - Arthur C. Clarke
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Crushes, Disabled Character, Frank Poole has ADHD, Friends to Lovers, Gay Characters, I gave Dave a son..., Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, OP Has Issues, Platonic Relationships, Psychological Trauma, Serious Canon divergence, Single Parents, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, They are going to kiss..., Train of Thought, Trans Characters, Trauma, WOOOOWW OK BACK AT IT AGAIN, Yearning, all my fics are abt mentally ill people ..., everyone is gay!, it’s about a dude falling in love with a dilf what else do you want me to tell you lol, just doing it as I go yknow, no update schedule we die like 2000s fic writers, non-binary characters(mentioned), none of them are neurotypical, parenting AU, probably gonna be romdrama I haven’t hashed much of this out yet, sometimes... or maybe a lot, this is me just being :), wow im so cool and original huh.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 90,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyhal/pseuds/babyhal
Summary: Dave Bowman is a single dad with trauma and a bad hip. Ash is a toddler with one and a half legs. Together they can take over the world... or at least Urbana. Maybe even just the apple juice aisle in the store down the street.
Relationships: David Bowman + Hal 9000, David Bowman/Frank Poole
Comments: 18
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL this is gonna get GAY lol... also gonna be slow burn trash. playlist below, working on embedding the YT playlist. for now, you can find the playlist at the link below. love you.

[HERE IS A LINK TO THIS PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss)

Hal lays down next to Dave, with Ash in between them barely closing his eyes. He lets out a little sigh, but they both know they can’t leave him yet.

Ash is particularly upset tonight. He doesn’t feel like sleeping and he won’t communicate what’s wrong, so Dave called Hal over to ‘help.’ Which means, in layman’s terms, laying down with Ash until he falls asleep. He likes having two people there with him. It’s a real shame he doesn’t normally, but his other parent’s been gone for months now. Dave’s surprised he even remembers them and sometimes he thinks he might not, but instead he’s gotten used to his dad calling Hal over when he couldn’t sleep. Bad parenting on Dave’s half - he can’t help but feel that maybe he should’ve just left Ash to cry it out.

Hal ends up sleeping on the couch because there’s not enough space in Dave’s bed for them both. There used to be but he had to get an orthopaedic mattress for his bad hip. Before he leaves, Dave gives him a cuddle and a cup of coffee as a thank you, as well as the extra bus fare to get in to work because Dave’s tiny apartment is just outside the realms of the city bus routes and Hal can’t put it on his card. Just one of those little shitty things that makes life a little harder. He nearly refuses that money because he knows Dave’s struggling and his disability payments are dwindling month by month. He doesn’t need it but Dave presses it in to his hands with a sense of urgency and a firmness in his smile that means he won’t take no for an answer.

His back in bits but painkillers in his pocket, he makes it to work only five minutes early. Dave was nice enough to get up early and clean his shirt and iron out his tie. He twitches off the feeling of illness in his chest from two cups of shakily downed coffee and fixes his curly mess of hair in the mirror of his monitor screen. In the kitchen he gets another coffee - makes a note that it’s his third - and sits down by his computer. 

He’s got a general, generic office job. He’s the server manager, the data keeper that sorts and designs the company’s databases, but he’s not with the servers. He doesn’t have to be and he finds that odd. Of course, his cubicle is close to the stairs so he can shoot down with a big book to smack the servers back in to submission. Which has worked. But he has a near perfect track record. He feels like he’s one with the servers - he anticipate failures hours in advance and he only allows electricians to work under his direct supervision. Allowing an electrician to work on his servers without supervision - once, and _only_ once - puts the near on his track record. 

To him, nobody who hired him understands what his job _should_ really be. But he likes having a lot of work to do, to sink his teeth in to. He checks his statuses to find everything is fine. Checks individual streams from the servers; of course, as everyone begins to log in there is a huge spike in activity. Normal. There is something not normal that he catches out the corner of his eye. 

“Good morning, Frank.” He says, without even swivelling his chair. Like clockwork, Frank has come to lean against the thin, polyester-covered wall of his cubicle with a smile on his face and a mug of coffee in his hand. 

Frank works in the legal department - which is this floor, adding another confusing abstraction as to just _why_ the server manager is here - and he’s only a few cubicles away from Hal. They have been friends for a while, ever since Frank started working here about a year ago and picked on the first guy he saw making coffee.

“You look like shit.” He announces with a brash tone that’s characteristic of him, but he’s quiet enough for it not to be insulting. “Did you sleep?”

“Oh-“ He pauses for a moment as he thinks of what to say, putting a finger out to signal to Frank he needs a moment. “I was- I was. With my friend and his son, he needed some help. I slept on his couch.”

“Oh, was it that guy with the-“ Frank clicks his fingers trying to remember. “Dave, your friend Dave. The one with the really cute kid.”

“Yes.” Hal nods in response. He points to the photo on his desk, of him and tiny Ash cuddling. He turns it so Frank can see.

“Yeah, I remember you telling me. How’s the little guy?”

“He’s okay. He was just having trouble getting to sleep, he sometimes can’t without two people.” That’s a bit of a lie - it’s more like ‘a lot of the time.’ Ash might have problems.

“Aww, poor kid.” Frank pouts. He looks at his watch. “I’m, just gonna. Pop over to see Dilly before I start work, can I see you at break?”

“Yes, yes.” Hal nods with a smile. 

The day is long, but normal. Dave asks him, could he please go get his painkillers for him because his hip is bad and the elevator’s broken down again and he can’t get Ash’s pushchair down the stairs and it’s one of those days where he just can’t wait another day - he’s so sorry that he’s a burden and he’ll more than make it up to him with sweet tea and dinner. Of course Hal agrees and tells him very politely but bluntly that he’s not a burden.

Right as he’s about to leave, one of his servers emits a cry. Failure within a few hours - he could leave it to one of the technicians or he could go down himself. Quickly, he hurries over to Frank with a small slip of paper in his hand.

“Frank, could I ask you do something for me?”

“Yeah, what is it?” He tilts his head. 

“Um, my friend Dave - the elevator broke at his apartment, he needs his meds but there’s a problem with my servers - could you go. Get them for him?”

“Oh...” He thinks for a moment. “I can do that, yeah.”

“I’ll tell him you’re coming, he’ll likely make you dinner in return.” Hal explains, playing with his hands anxiously. “He’s a very good cook, you won’t regret it, and the stairs aren’t too bad but he can’t get the stroller down them with his bad hip-“

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll get them for him, no biggie.”

“I owe you one.”

“You don’t, you don’t. I didn’t have any plans anyway.” Frank shrugs. Hal hands him the letter - Dave’s prescription, which he printed off as soon as he got the text from Dave.

“Thank you.” Hal nods and runs off, down the stairs to the server room. 

The walk to the pharmacist that has Dave’s prescription is wildly outside his normal path home. He takes a look at the printed sheet - it’s incredibly personal. Bowman, D. One pack of codeine to take when needed. Two packs each of NSAIDs and proton pump inhibitors to be taken once daily. One pack of zonisamide once a day. His address is at the top, his doctor’s name to the side. He probably shouldn’t be looking at the prescription of a man he doesn’t know but he can’t help himself. 

The prescription, in a paper bag, is heavy with these medications when he gets it. He traverses the flights of stairs to Dave’s apartment, ironically at the top of the three-story complex he lives in. He knocks on the door and a tired-looking man with a cane greets him.

“I brought these for you.” Frank smiles broadly, but he keeps his voice quiet. A child he recognises as Ash is asleep on the grey couch. “Also, hello, my name is Frank, and your friend Hal sent me.”

“Thank you.” Dave says. “I’m Dave, but I guess you already knew that... why don’t you come in? Take your shoes off at the door. Do you like sweet tea?”

“Odd question, but yeah... why?” As he comes in and hands the heavy bag to Dave, he wipes his shoes off on the mat and slips them in to the little shoe holder. Dave seems to only have one pair of shoes, the strange orthopaedic kind with ridges and bumps. They look comfortable, but they’re definitely old man shoes. The rest of the space is taken up by little baby shoes of all sorts - but only the left shoe. He looks back at the couch and notices Ash is missing his right leg.

“Ash really likes it and I made a big, big jug of it earlier. Probably too much.” Dave places his paper bag down on the table and reaches for the box of codeine. His hands shake as he takes a pill. Frank can’t tell if it’s out of pain or withdrawal. 

“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” Frank asks, shutting the door behind him. “This seems to be a bad time, if you don’t need the company I’m more than happy to go.”

“No, no. Drugs will kick in after about twenty minutes, after that I will be fine. Just had a bit of a bad day. I’ll get you some tea, do you like it with ice and lemon? I can add some syrup for you as well.” He says sleepily, though becoming a bit more alert. “I never give syrup to Ash, I promise, and I don’t let him have any sweet tea after I brush his teeth.”

“I’ll have tea in a bit, after your meds have kicked in - sit down and relax a little.” Frank smiles, and looks around the room as Dave makes a laboured sit down on one of the kitchen chairs. It’s homely. There are toys all over the floor and Ash looks more than tuckered out. “Looks like you’ve had a long day.”

“Oh, tell me about it. He was... a goddamn tornado today. He really wanted to go out and when we couldn’t I was so scared I’d broken his little heart. Elevator should be fixed within the next few days, I can air him out after that. But, the one upside of my little tornado baby is that he’s gonna sleep the whole night through.”

“Hal’s told me a lot about him, I heard he was really energetic.” 

“Bet you weren’t expecting him to only have one leg.” Dave looks up and smiles. “Don’t be fooled, he can probably get around faster than you. He can escape me easy.”

“He looks pretty asleep to me.” Frank says, finally sitting down across from Dave. “Is he gonna get a prosthetic?”

“Yeah, we’re looking at getting him one, just that the doctors have a lot of kids to get around... do you like mac and cheese?” 

“Yeah, mac and cheese is good.”

“Good, ‘cause that is what I am making for dinner.” Dave smiles and stretches as he stands up. Frank notices he’s a little stiff as he grasps for his colourful cane and takes a deep breath. “It’s not normal mac and cheese, it’s way better, I promise. You want some tea now?”

“It’s kicked in already?”

“No, but the pain fades in and out. I can get up... tea with lemon and ice?”

“Only if it’s not a problem.” Frank shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He’s not used to being given so much, especially as Dave is disabled. Dave’s hip feels like the elephant in the room, but really the man in front of it isn’t even recognising it.   
  
Dave reaches in to the refrigerator for a tall jug of dark tea, then divides it between two glasses on the counter. He adds ice and cuts a slice of lemon which he slips over the rim of the glass. He slides it across the marble counter for Frank, who takes a sip. Delicious.

“Thank you.” He says, even quieter. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s okay. You know if Hal is coming? He said he was sending a friend pretty quickly and then shot off.” He asks, furrowing his brow. He sits down, leaning his cane against the table, and sips his own tea. He decides to cook when he knows the codeine has kicked in.

“Um, he didn’t say if he was or not.”

“He’ll probably show up.” Dave’s nose wrinkles as he smiles. “He tends to turn up.”

“Ah.” Frank nods in understanding. “How long have you known him for?”

“Oh, since high school. We were best friends the whole way through. Practically inseparable, we still are.” Dave smiles. “He’s Ash’s godfather, even though we don’t really believe in all that. It’s really the sentiment, Ashie calls him uncle Hal... He’s been here for us this whole time. How long have you known him for?”

“I started working where he does about three years ago, we just. Hang out sometimes.” Frank explains. “And I guess he trusts me - he seems to have a soft spot for you and Ash.”

“Well, you seem nice.” Dave smiles, and stands up again. He doesn’t reach for his cane and takes stumbling steps towards Ash. “You’ve got a kind face, I can see why he’d like you.” 

He bends over and takes the toddler, out cold, in to his arms. His breath is laboured and staggered but he paces down the hallway and returns moments later with empty arms. Having tucked Ash away in to his warm, cosy pile of blankets. It’s always more difficult switching from his cane to his legs on their own. He always tries to divert the weight of Ash from his bad hip but he can’t always win. He *can* balance Ash and hold a cane all at once, but that requires co-operation, and Ash holding on. 

“When do you think Hal will come?” Frank asks as Dave fills a pot with water. “And are you sure you’re okay doing that, I could do the heavy lifting-“

“Don’t worry, I do this all the time.” He says, self assured, as he loads the pot on to the stovetop and starts boiling the water.

“I feel a little useless just. Sitting here while you cook, is there anything I could do to help?”

“You could clean, if you really want to help, but you don’t have to. Ashie’s toys go in that basket under the TV.”

As soon as he hears those words he’s up on his feet, and he starts piling up Ashie’s toys one by one in his arms. He really is a little tornado, as Frank notices just how many different places they’re scattered in. They’re like hydras; when he picks one up, three more seem to appear. When he’s down picking them up, the wicker basket beneath the TV barely fits but he just about manages to stuff it in. He moves the duck-egg rug back to it’s supposed place and he fluffs out the similarly coloured throw pillows on the couch. He’s finally distracted from the concentration by Dave whisking away in to a pan, the grating noise banging and bopping around his body like a ricocheting bullet.

Dave hums away as he whisks, and Frank’s not sure if he knows just how noisy he’s being. Frank stares at the pictures on the wall, of tiny Ash and Dave holding him. There’s a progression there, of Dave’s disability. He’s not using a cane in the first pictures, where Ash is small, nor is he limping and leaning to one side. Then the leaning starts, and the cane as Ash gets older. He’s one and a half now.

Frank pulls out his phone and texts Hal.

you coming or?  
  
soon. please stand by.  
  
ah  
  
did you stay there what is dave doing.  
  
making dinner and yes i stayed  
  
i like your friend  
  
also worried about him because the codeine hasn’t even kicked in and he is up and making dinner   
  
dave will be okay. he hates being worried about and actually he’s okay on his own. has been kinda picky about that since ash’s other parent left   
  
they couldn’t deal with Dave’s disability specifically and told him that so he’s. basically don’t mention it and just let him be.   
  
ive tried he just won’t take it.  
  
right right ok  
  
when did they leave?  
  
when Dave’s arthritis got bad they just kinda left. ash was 2 months old  
  
damn.  
  
i don’t wanna pry but. he’s been on his own since then? up on the top floor with an elevator that breaks?  
  
this is where they left him and he can’t afford anywhere else and my apartment is even higher   
  
wow that’s fucked up   
  
i think so too, however there’s very little I can do.  
  
i won’t be long, im very nearly finished here. then I’ll come over   
  


Frank looks over to Dave, who’s stopped humming and is instead pouring what seems like a sack of pasta in to the largest pot on the stovetop. “Um. Hal says he’ll be here soon.”

“Good.” Dave turns around and takes a look at the cleaned living room. “Thank you.” Frank still stands and twiddles his thumbs, rocking from foot to foot. Dave beckons him over with two fingers and a knife in his other hand. He places it on the counter with a clatter. “If you still want to help, chop two tomatoes in to slices on the wooden cutting board.”

They make dinner together. Mac and cheese with tomatoes and bacon and a thick layer of breadcrumbs mixed with bacon bits on the top. Right when Dave is about to plate up, Hal lets himself in - just as Dave said he would. He just ‘turns up.’ They eat together, but it’s not awkward and it’s certainly not silent. Hal rants about server issues and incompetent electricians. Frank gets to have a bit of a go about some tricky case the company’s involved in. Dave _really_ goes off about the broken elevator.

“I don’t know how my ratbastard landlord thinks he can get away with it - but I’ve been telling him for weeks there’s something wrong with the goddamn elevator and he _knows_ it’s the only way I can get down because of Ash’s stroller - the hell am I even paying for? I got an apartment full of black mould that I just can’t scrub off or paint over no matter how hard I try, carpets full of rat shit, and _now_ the piss covered elevator can’t even take me down three floors!”

“He is calling someone out to fix it, right?” Hal tilts his head, his teeth ground together.

“He said he was. Cause I had to call him this morning to ask him if he knew the elevator was broken because I had a prescription to get. Imagine if I had run out of groceries or toilet paper? Thank god I didn’t.”

“How often does this happen?” Frank asks, having put his fork down in his bowl. 

“It’s happened more times than I can remember. It breaks all the time but he won’t get a new one installed or put a stairlift in and with the rent I have to pay you’d think he’d have the goddamn money!” Dave raises his voice - only slightly, as to not wake Ash, but loud enough for his friends to know he means business. “I guess I’m looking at it from my point of view alone, but still. It just seems like the type of thing any decent person would fix.”

“Have you maybe talked to him about moving to the bottom floor? He might allow it, and if not I’m a lawyer, I could get something done.” Frank explains on a whim. Would he really stick his ass out for a man he just met? Maybe. He would. It would give him something to do.

“I’ve tried, but the dickhead just won’t move me. Says the tenants at the bottom are older than me and even less mobile. So I tell him to move me to the floor below ‘cause I think I might be able to manage the stairs from there down if I pick up the stroller and Ashie holds on for dear life and he tells me that nobody’s willing to move.” Dave scoffs with an angered scowl. “Also, he’s lying through his teeth about the tenants on the bottom. There’s a goddamn _yoga teacher_ in her twenties living down there. Talked to her, perfectly able-bodied. Acted like I didn’t need the bottom floor ‘cause I’ve made it this long using the elevator. Anyway, that was my day.”

“Landlord sounds like a _dick_.”

“Tell me about it.” Hal rests his jaw on his hand. “He’s always been like this, and no offence, Dave, but it seems to me like the worse your hip gets, the less accommodating he is.” 

“Oh, I agree with you. A hundred percent.” Dave explains with a sigh. “I’m gonna. Get a job when Ash starts pre-K and then we’re moving out of this shithole.”

“I’ve already said, Dave, you can come stay with me if you ever need it. I know it’s higher up but the elevator normally works and there’s no mould.”

Frank wants to offer the same thing. He lives on the bottom floor of his duplex and he’s got a spare room and he wouldn’t mind the company. But he doesn’t feel he knows Dave well enough to say ‘ _hey - I live on the bottom floor and I’ve got room for you and Ash and extra space in the refrigerator.’ And we could live together and I promise you’d be safe there. I wouldn’t even make you pay rent so if you wanted to you could save up to get your own place._

“Every day I inch a little closer to doing that.”

“What’s stopping you?” Hal shrugs. “It would be fun, for a start. I still have my GameCube, we could play Brawl like we used to.”

“It’s Ash that worries me.” Dave confesses earnestly. 

“How do you mean?”

“I’m scared he might not adapt to it. You know he doesn’t sleep if he’s not in our room. You remember the hotel fiasco.”

“What’s the hotel fiasco?” Frank raises an eyebrow, expecting halfway to be scoffed at, but Dave’s eyes widen as he remembers Frank hasn’t been there long. Frank’s not sure if this is an insult or a compliment to his character.

“Right, uh, when Kel - Ash’s ren, and we’d been apart for about ten months at that point - was basically coming here and screaming and knocking on the door and demanding we let them in in the night, so I grabbed Ash the minute they were gone and went off to a hotel because I was scared of their new boyfriend, he had a knife and was threatening to kill me if I didn’t let them in, and Ash absolutely wouldn’t sleep, no matter how tight I held him or how long I rocked him for. He passed out at about five in the morning and stayed asleep long enough for me to get a restraining order against them and their boyfriend.”

“That might just have been because he was scared too. I mean, if you’ve got these guys standing outside your door and screaming and your dad taking you to a new place, you’d be a bit scared.” Frank says quickly, hoping he won’t be brushed off. He isn’t. Dave considers his words for a few seconds.

“You’re right - maybe there’s a little credence to that.”

“We could try it out for a few nights and see how he gets on.” Hal gives a patient smile.


	2. Chapter 2

[ LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss)

A few weeks later, Frank’s on his way home when he bumps in to Dave pushing Ash in the stroller with one hand. The rubber stopper of his cane taps across the ground as he walks along the sidewalks. Ash is sleeping peacefully, with his little nose wrinkled and his socked foot sticking out the bottom of his blanket arrangement.

“Hey, Frank.” Dave smiles and stops walking as he notices Frank looking. “Guess who finally got the elevator fixed?”

“Took that long? Ash must’ve gone stir-crazy.”

“Actually, I’ve been living with Hal for about two weeks. Just couldn’t deal with the broken elevator any longer, and Ash was going berserk not being able to go out.” He looks down at the toddler in the stroller. 

“He didn’t say.” Frank says, surprised. “Are you gonna stay there?”

“I’m thinking about it, yeah. Ash seems okay there, though that might only be because he knows Hal’s there.”

“You going anywhere?”

“Oh, I’m just. Gonna get some teabags, we’re running dangerously low and Ash will not stand for it.” 

“Mind if I come with you? Haven’t got anywhere better to be.”

“I could use the company.” Dave smiles, and Frank immediately turns around to be by his side. He’s looping back around to where he came from but he doesn’t really mind. “How was your day?”

“Oh, it was good. Boring.” Frank shrugs. “Yours?”

“Me and Ash went to a petting zoo. Since he can’t walk around, we tend to do things that let him touch things around him. He _l_ _oves_ the downtown petting zoo, we go all the time.”

“Did he have fun?”

“Oh, he had a _great_ time. Always does. Cuddled all sorts of animals. He snuggled up with this sweet little baby fainting goat who crawled on his lap and nuzzled the hell out of him. I think he wants a goat now.” 

“Aw, that’s so cute.” Frank smiles. “I find it a little weird I’ve never met him awake before. Always run in to you guys when he’s asleep.”

“You should be glad. He doesn’t take well to strangers sometimes.” Dave looks over at him. “Your shirt needs bleached, do you want me to do it for you?”

“It needs bleached?”

“Yeah. You put it in a bath of bleach and water for a few hours to crisp it up. I wouldn’t mind, I’m doing it for Hal. I’ll dry and iron it too.” 

“Oh - I mean. If you wanted to do that for me then we could. You. You trust me that much?”

“Yeah, why not. Any friend of Hal’s is a friend of mine.” Dave shrugs. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t trust you?”

“No! Of course not. But we’ve met, like, twice.”

“Yeah, and? Why shouldn’t I? No offence to Hal, but he doesn’t have very many friends. I trust you.” Dave smiles. He manoeuvres the stroller around a thick crack in the sidewalk without even looking at it. Being careful not to wake Ash up. “You’re nice. I like you. Don’t need to meet you a bunch of times to decide that.”

“I like you too. You’re fun.” Frank twiddles his fingers and thinks of something to say. “Have I told you I like your cane? Because I do. I think it looks cool.”

Dave glances down to his cane - covered with narrow bands of vibrant colours - and smiles back at Frank. “Thank you. I like it too. When I was looking for a cane, I thought it might as well look cool.”

“Yeah, it’s sick! It’s. Psychedelic, y’know? Reminds me of this one time in college when I took acid and saw a rainbow river outside my dorm room.”

Dave laughs loudly. “That’s what I thought of when I saw it!”

Maybe it’s the way that the sun is setting behind him but his smile looks like heaven and Frank’s filled with a faint blushing feeling deep in his chest, one he hasn’t felt in years. 

The store lays just ahead of them. Frank watches over sleeping Ash in the stroller as Dave quickly grabs a big box of tea, and on their way back to Dave’s he slips it in the bottom of the stroller. At home, Dave makes sweet tea with lemon and ice, and in his bathtub he sets up a big bucket filled to the brim with bleach and cold water. He loads it up with Frank’s shirt and some of Hal’s, too. The acetic stench is unimaginable, and Dave comes out the bathroom with tears prickling his eyes. Frank is glad, for once, that he wears a vest beneath his shirt; mostly to stop his dark binder from showing through the thin fabric, but it has its uses now.

When he’s done, and Ash is tucked in to bed, Dave lays back on the couch with his bad leg up on the ottoman and switches on the TV. “Anything you wanna watch?”

“Um. I dunno.” Frank presses his hands together. “What do you normally watch?”

“Whatever the hell is on. Sometimes Ash has been watching something, some baby TV shit, and I just keep watching it after he’s gone to bed, to find out what happens.”

Frank giggles at that. “My mom used to do that with my little brother.”  
  
“Seems to be universal.” Dave shrugs. “You been watching anything recently? Any recommendations? Cause I’m fresh out of shows to watch.”

“Yeah, there’s some really good stuff I’ve been watching.”

Dave tosses the remote over to him, and Frank surfs the channels until he finds the one that airs one specific show he thinks Dave will like. They don’t pay much attention to it, they talk instead about all sorts of things. Work. Ash. Hal. How much of a nuisance the broken elevator was. Why Frank wants to get a new job. Fake legs. Hip replacements. Medications; Frank’s adderall, testosterone for the both of them, Dave’s various prescriptions. What it’s like to be doped up all the time. It doesn’t sound like the cheeriest conversation in the world, but it’s nice to talk about it for once.

Dave irons out Frank’s tie, and washes his shirt for him. He makes a neat pile of Hal’s shirts, too, and hands them to Frank.

“You can go if you want, or you can stay the night. I don’t mind.” Dave shrugs. “I just ask you deliver those to Hal tomorrow, but for now I’m going to bed.”

“Um...” Frank keeps his eyes wide. It’s gotten late and he’s not sure if he feels safe walking home on his own. 

“Why don’t you stay?” Dave says with a smile. I’ll set up the couch for you, it’s not the best but it’ll do.”

So he sleeps on the couch, but he can’t settle down in Dave’s apartment. Every noise distracts him from sleep, and he shifts and turns every time he feels he might fall asleep. 

Early in the morning, he hears a noise louder than normal. The cries of Ash, emanating through the house. Powerful little chirps of sadness, sniffing and suffering. He can hear Dave, too, whispering to him that it’s okay. Slowly he stands up.

Dave’s room is small and cold, and it smells of topical creams. Ash’s bed - a tiny toddler bed covered in a hoard of blankets - is by the door, and Dave’s bed - a big memory foam mattress with supports on the side - is by the window at the other side. Dave is sat on his bed with whimpering Ash in his lap. His hands are wrapped in Ash’s hair, stroking from side to side as his whole body rocks. This must be a bad night, and a bad time to have walked in.

He thinks hard for a moment and leaves. Finds milk in the refrigerator, pours it out in to one of Ash’s bottles and very gently warms it in the microwave. He’s not even sure if Ash likes milk, but he figures it’s worth a shot. Makes sure it’s not too hot, and brings it through for Ash. He fits it in to Ash’s hand, and as he’s about to leave, Ash reaches out for him and whimpers. So he comes back. Dave lays down in the middle of the bed and Frank lays down near the edge. Ash makes himself comfortable between the two of them, suckling at his milk. Finally quiet, growing tired. Dave looks tired himself, and chooses not to question the near stranger in his bed, cuddled up with his son. In fact, Frank can even see him - though it’s hard to make out in the red-tinted darkness - smile.

Frank wakes up in the morning, far from fresh, to find Ash and Dave awake and fussing around in the kitchen. He sleepily walks through to find his trousers and his binder have been washed and dried. Ash is drinking tea and Dave is cooking and leaning on his cane. 

“Morning, Frank.” Dave smiles weakly as he cracks an egg in to the pan on the stovetop. He’s always cooking, or in the kitchen. “You look gormless, what’s the matter?”

“Oh, oh - nothing. Nothing’s the matter.”

Dave nods in return and turns his attention back to the sizzling pan. Frank walks over to see Ash, sipping at his tea. He looks slightly bewildered as Frank comes over, but stiffens himself up and blinks a few times. Then focuses back on his tea.

“Hi, Ash.” He tries to be quite delicate about it, especially as he knows that he’s never spoken to Ash before. “I’m Frank, I’m your dad’s friend.”

Ash babbles something incomprehensible in return. Frank guesses it’s something like ‘hello’ but he can’t be too sure. He sticks his hands out.

“Does that... mean he wants to be picked up?”

“Hm?” Dave looks back. “Yeah. Just lift him out and put him on the floor. You can take a shower if you want, I can get you a towel. Washed your boxers as well.”

“Thank you.” Frank smiles sheepishly. 

“I don’t want you going to work gross.” He shakes his head and sticks out his tongue.

Frank picks the toddler from the seat and finds himself enveloped in a tight cuddle - Ash is hugging him. He looks peaceful against Frank’s chest, and Frank doesn’t want to put him down, so he just stands where he is and rocks tiny Ash from side to side. Frank’s nose ends up buried in Ash’s hair, _ashy_ in colour and a pretty curly mop like Dave’s. It’s frizzy and tickles his nose awkwardly, but Ash is _hugging_ him. He hasn’t been hugged in a while. It’s nice, it’s comforting. He’s filled with a sense of calmness.

Eventually Ash clamours to be let down and he scoots away to his bedroom, sitting down and propelling himself with his arms. As Dave said, he’s very fast, though Frank assumes it’s not so easy outside. Hence the stroller.

Frank showers and gets dressed. Dave gives him breakfast; egg and bacon roll with coffee. He doesn’t say much; he’s still in awe that Ash let Frank cuddle him and hold him. He doesn’t do that. He never even trusted Kelloran that much - even though he was only two months old when they left - and they were his parent. Debating it to himself, he doesn’t know what’s come over Ash but he decides to just let it happen as it happens. If Ash likes Frank then that _is_ good, even if it’s a surprise. Maybe he’s coming out his shell, maybe he’s growing up a little, maybe he just really likes the way Frank smells. He just can’t wrap his head around the sudden change as Frank finishes off his breakfast roll and gives a patient smile.

Before Frank leaves, Dave hands him his number. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am working on Spotify playlist for this... will take a while cause I’m lazy lol

[ LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss)

The elevator breaks again and pissed off, Dave finally moves out. It’s a long process of taking his things back and forth to Hal’s house. The orthopaedic mattress is the hardest bit; Frank has to push all the seats down and stuff it in to his car and Hal has to take the bus to his apartment complex so they can both get it in to the (working) elevator, and in to Hal’s spare room. That’s an ordeal. Dave pays it back with tears when he sees what his friends have done for him... in reality they’d forgot they hadn’t told him they were doing it. It wasn’t just the fact they’d done it. It was having his big mattress on a real bed frame, done up with soft new bedding, with the metal supports on the side correctly in place because they’re finally on a real bed, not the only thing Dave could afford. It’s overwhelmingly kind of Hal and Frank to have done that for him.

His duck egg rug is on the floor and Ash’s crib is set up neatly in the corner, as well as his toys. The stroller’s got its own special place now. Without the kitchen and the TV and the couch, which Hal manages to sell off for some extra cash to do up the bedroom Dave will call home, Dave doesn’t really have a lot. Some books and box sets and wall art. A sound system and a selection of CDs. Old mobility aids and medication boxes and strange creams and leftover alternative remedies given to him from friends. A pink box of paperwork and birth certificates and passports and name changes. Clothes, shoes, blankets, keepsakes from childhood. His life fits in a few small boxes, but that sounds about right. He’s only twenty three.

He cuddles Frank and Hal tightly. They’re a little guilty they’d forgotten to tell him about the bed, but it was a hard few days. They were bound to forget something. Still he was so glad - so glad he erupted in to sweet little tears Hal hadn’t seen in years. He had thought he would have to do this on his own, but his friends gave up their weekend for him. How kind. He makes them rocky road brownies and hot chocolate and makes them dinner for their trouble. 

In the night, Ash can’t sleep. Hal hears first hand how hard Dave tries to comfort him through the thin walls - quiet lullabies at first, a gentle _shshshshsh_ , whispering to him, even getting him milk and telling him a story - but nothing works and Ash cries because he can’t sleep. Without even being asked to, Hal makes his way through and lays down next to him. He never cuddles Ash, just lays down and strokes his cheek every now and then. He likes the security of having two people there when he needs it. He near instantly quietens with Hal there, feels safe where he is and closes his eyes. Even more so when Hal runs a single finger over his cheek, and Dave kisses him on the head. It’s so calming when he falls asleep. Like a great big wave that finally comes crashing down.

Hal smiles and gives Dave a scratch behind the ear to say goodnight. They’ve been doing that since they were teenagers in Hal’s creaky attic bedroom, up past their bedtime to watch just _one_ more space documentary. Trying so hard not to wake Hal’s mom and dad up. Just like Ash, it calms him down like a tsunami would stop in midair. He leaves the room for the comfort of his own bed, as nice as Dave’s fancy mattress is.

Hal and Frank go to work the next day.

“Hey, Hal. You want a coffee?” Frank leans against the cheap, flimsy cubicle divider like he always does. “‘Cause I’m going to the store for one of those heat pack things and they got a new coffee machine.”

“Do you mind if I come with you?” Hal tilts his head. “I’m bored.”

“Oh, sure. Will the servers be okay on their own?” Frank pouts half-jokingly, then straightens up and brushes his shirt off; what was _on_ his shirt, Hal can’t tell. 

“No signs of breakdowns within the next seventy two hours. I can take a thirty minute break for some coffee.” Hal shrugs, and rushes down the steep flights of stairs with him.

The city is bustling and cold this morning, chock full with people on their way to work. They have to take a few moments to break away from the main roads, crawling with crowds, before they can talk. 

“How’s Dave?” Frank looks over at his friend, who was clearly rocked by the crowd. His shirt has untucked from its neat perch beneath his belt and his hair is spewing flyaways wherever it sees fit. “How are they settling in? Must be nice to have someone to make you food on a morning.”

“Oh, Dave and Ash are fine.” Hal nods. “Also, not even Dave can get me to eat breakfast.”

“You should! It’s good for you, dude.” 

“There is only one person that can get me to eat breakfast, and that’s my ma.” Hal explains. “Speaking of, I was wondering if you knew any good hotels? They want to come down soon and I don’t want to sleep on my couch.”

“Oh, shit, uh. Nope. I can ask around, sounds like something people in my department would know.” 

“Why are you buying a heat pack?”

“My back hurts after lugging around half a ton of mattress.”

“...Oh. That makes sense. You should have told me, we have some at home.”

“Thought you might. Too late now, anyway. We’re on our way. And I don’t think the bosses would appreciate us detouring to your apartment.”

“We’re on break. We could take an early lunch.” Hal suggests, shrugging. “Get some donuts for the office... I know it’s Monday but it might boost morale. I want a donut.”

“How many people are on our floor? Sounds like something you’d know.” Frank looks down and chuckles, but he can see the mental cogs turning. Hal knows exactly how many people are on the floor and he should’ve counted on it.

“Eighteen, then you and me. So, twenty.” Hal says after a few moments of silent thinking. “We can get one dozen, one half dozen, and then me and you can choose our own.” 

“Sick. Let’s do it. Casual donut Monday.”

Frank forgets about the heat pack, then realise he doesn’t really need it as he gets Hal to carry the larger box, and the bags with their choice donuts in them. Frank carries the smaller box and the coffees. He keeps making a point of eyeing Hal, of wrinkling his nose in Hal’s direction to check that his donut hasn’t even eaten. Everyone else can fight over them - the Nutella disc is _his_. He touched it. He _would’ve_ licked it but then it would’ve contaminated Hal’s donut. Which means he would’ve had to have eaten both. Which he would if he found out Hal had even taken the tiniest nibble of his sacred pastry.

He gets his donut untouched and unslobbered, and he praises a god if there is one because it’s in one piece and the chocolate glaze on the top hasn’t cracked at all. It makes a very specific, very quiet but satisfying noise when he bites in to it. It’s like a little mouthful of messy, chocolatey heaven. Everyone thanks them. It feels good to be nice, especially on a whim.

Still, he doesn’t want to work, and spends a lot of the day loitering in or around Hal’s cubicle. Poking at the little plants Hal keeps to keep sane. Asking Hal what the lines on the screen are. Fiddling with leaves until they fall off and ashamedly trying to hide them in the dirt. Asking Hal if he _reeeallllyyyy_ needs a Pokemon emulator on his work computer. Why he needs _all_ the generations. Why he has Steam installed, quietly boasting three hundred hours on Minecraft. They have a whole conversation about shader packs... Frank barely gets anything done that day save for his generous act of charity but he feels alright about it. One of those days where he can accept not working for the happiness it actually brings to him. He feels happy and ditsy and like he could roll around on the ground in his work shirt. It’s liberating, it really is.

They walk home together over a warm sunset. Hal’s apartment complex is some ten blocks away, but the air is still enough and the heat is pleasant enough for them to brave the city, rather than take public transport. 

“So like. I’m gonna get in trouble over that.” Frank smiles with a shrug. “It was a good day and there’s nothing pressing at the moment, I guess. Just getting paid to stand around and look pretty.”

“Let’s just say you helped me with some legal server regulations.” Hal suggests. “Are you coming back to mine?”

“Yeah, if it’s not a nuisance.”

Hal nods in response and takes in the fresh evening air, slightly cold but not bitter enough to cause him to wrap himself in his jacket. It’s a quiet, serene time of day, where the smog is cleaning itself slowly after the evening rush hour has passed. Where the air is the best, before getting worse in the night. Frank sighs content let and turns his attention to his friend. Head lost in the clouds like normal, fingers tumbling around the clinking keys and coins in the pocket of his trousers. 

As they enter Hal’s apartment complex, the concierge gives them a puzzled look from behind her newspaper before focusing back on the flashing headlines. Hal presses his access key to the elevator, then remembers something seemingly vital and runs off to see the concierge. He motions for Frank to get in the elevator, chucking over the little plastic card with it. It’s not like Hal to be so dexterous, but Frank catches the well-judged throw perfectly. Impressive.

The elevator climbs upwards and he lets himself in to Hal’s apartment without a hitch. He knows the rules; shoes off and on the rack, coats up on the hook, bags on top of the shoe cabinet. He smiles at the addition of three new shoes to the always empty rack; one sweet toddler-sized shoe and a pair of comfortable looking orthopaedic shoes. As he passes across the wall, he sees Dave has fallen asleep on the couch, Ash in his arms babbling while playing with his stuffed animals quietly. A soft baby bear and a sprawling, glimmering octopus.

“Hey, Ashie.” Frank smiles. Over the weekend, he got to know Ash pretty well. The boy wouldn’t stop clinging to his leg and kept climbing on his lap. “Who have you got there?”

“Friend.” He says, rolling back to lay his back in Dave’s lap and thrusting his octopus in to the air. It’s all the colours of the rainbow and it twinkles especially well in the light of the sunset. “Friend!”

“Can I see your friend?” Frank asks softly, and with Ash’s reluctant nod, he lifts the heavy octopus from Ash’s hand. He keeps the tiny bear close to his chest. He can’t let Frank touch it yet. “Oh, wow!”

Frank holds the octopus up to his face, and manoeuvres the tentacles while blubbering. It makes Ash giggle, especially when Frank dives down and says ‘I’m coming to get you!’ He can’t stop, and he spends a few moments writhing in peals of laughter before letting Frank pick him up for a hug.

“You hungry?” Frank asks, bringing Ash over to the kitchen and plopping him down in his highchair. Newly cleaned and practically sparkling. “You want peanut butter jelly?”

“Yeah!” Ash throws his arms in the air. Frank gets to work making the sandwich, and cuts them up in to little sticks on a plastic plate. “Thank you, Frankie.”

“No problem, little guy.”

Frank licks the remaining jelly from the knife as Ash picks at his sandwich sticks. No crusts, because he doesn’t like them. He’s got a fairly good aim, even if he does stuff the sticks in to his mouth without remission. Most of it ends up in his mouth and not all over his cheeks.

“You made your dad pass out, huh?” Frank points at Dave. “What did you do?”

“Play.” He explains as he outstretches his arms and gums at his sandwich. 

“Yeah? All day, I bet. Did you have fun?”

“Yeah.” Ash nods. “Drink, please?”

“You want a drink?” Frank asks, mostly to clarify. Ash nods wholeheartedly, and Frank stands from his perch on the bar stool. “Tea?”

“Tea! Tea!” Ash clamours, thumping on the table of his highchair with little balled up fists. Frank retrieves a bottle and pours it - thankfully already made by Dave - out for him. 

Ash drinks so quickly and furiously that Frank is scared he might choke, and he keeps a hawk’s eye on the toddler. Thankfully he can control himself enough to stop anything from slipping down the wrong hole. As an anxious few moments draw to a close, Hal lets himself in, sighs and de-shoes himself before sitting down next to sleeping Dave in the living room. He quietly closes his own eyes, lays back and peels his eyepatch from his left eye. He stuffs it in his pocket and rubs his eyes until his squint returns and his right eye wanders away from where his left eye is staring.

“You want anything, Hal?” Frank asks, mindlessly twiddling his hair. 

“No thank you.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath in. 

He’s already exhausted and it’s only Monday. Though maybe he will get better as the week goes on. Or maybe he will just have to play video games all day tomorrow and pretend he’s doing work. He makes a mental note to bring in a controller for Frank. He finally opens his eyes and looks over at Dave, who has curled himself up around a pillow. 

“What’s up with him?” Hal asks.

“Ash tired him out, I think. He was sleeping when I came in.” Frank explains, watching Ash take the last few bites of PB+J. He quietly takes the emptied bottle away. “What did you have to ask the concierge?”

“I need to get a key for Dave. Access card. Put in an order for it.”

“Oh, makes sense.” 

“Why does Ash like you so much?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. Ash puts his arms in the air and Frank takes it as a cue to pick him up. “I’m glad he’s got someone to cuddle.”

“I think you might remind him of Kel.” Hal says quietly. Frank tilts his head in confusion. “Well, you’ve got that kind of build. Big shoulders and chest. The only thing is you’re much nicer. I never liked them.”

Cold. “But Ash wouldn’t remember them. He was too young when they left.”

Hal shifts uncomfortably. “There have been... incidents.”


	4. Chapter 4

[ LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss)

**{CW - Violence/Gun mention, weight mention}**

Hal had always been there for Dave, and he definitely had for the last few tumultuous months of his life. Yet now it culminated in the birth of Dave’s son. Newborn. Very newborn. His heart melted when he saw the tiny thing gurgling and chirping. Sleepy and cute. Heavier than expected but still tiny, missing a leg but not quite aware of the fact there should have been two. Hal rocked him from side to side, held him tight and close and smiled at him. Ash could’ve smiled back, Hal’s eyes were too welled up to make out the shape his lips made. He looked a lot like a tiny Dave - not a single wisp of Kel in him. Pure and untouched by the one person Hal hated the most.

It was not jealousy that caused Hal’s dislike of Kel - far from it. He wanted Dave to be happy. Him and Dave, they’d been analogous to brothers since the age of fourteen. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something off about them. He didn’t have the words to describe the apprehension he felt towards them. Like they were insincere. Like they were going to _hurt_ Dave somehow - which Hal would not stand for. Yet when constructing these arguments in to passable sentences and paragraphs they felt childish beneath his tongue, so he kept them there and when they started to stink and foul his words he swallowed them. The rotting words which he had so carefully tried to make concise and clear turned to hatred in his gut. Perhaps unfair, perhaps justified. He couldn’t tell Dave.

Then it happened. A deafening row where Dave was left on his own with the baby, where Kel never came back and Dave spent the night sobbing and rocking a screaming two month old. Tiny Ash, who nearly never cried because he was such a happy little guy, screaming like a banshee. Inconsolable. Hal decided, as he came over with tissues and draped a warm blanket around his best friend’s shoulders, that he would never forgive Kel. As he wiped Dave’s tears away from beneath his eyes with the pads of his thumbs he knew he had to do all in his power to make sure they never came back. When he took the screaming baby in his arms and rocked him, after sending Dave to bed, he knew they were never going to see their son again. Not by the time he was done.

Call it vindictiveness on Hal’s behalf, or perhaps just him seeing things in black and white. Protectiveness, anguish, heightened emotions and elevated fight responses. Seeing Dave cry, and hearing Ash scream tore him apart.

Kel did not try and win Dave back. Hal and Dave didn’t see hide nor hair of them for months on end - relieving Hal, to say the least. The way he saw it, if they were happy to leave then he was more than happy to pick up the pieces, in some way or other. He certainly wasn’t dad material and he wasn’t in love with Dave but he was able to comfort Ash and feed him when Dave couldn’t. He could strap Ash in to a car seat and he could drive him around when he couldn’t sleep. His own father remarked that made him a dad - he couldn’t agree less. He simply cared about Ash and Dave enough to care for them, especially when nobody else would. 

Kel did _come_ back. They came back with a bang - a blank, shot outside Dave’s apartment to wake him up. He had a panic attack in the corner of his room with Ash sleeping in his arms. He spat his jumbled thoughts, voice shaking, quivering and jittering, down the phone to Hal, while Hal tried to comfort him. They couldn’t get in to the house but they came back, threatened him, thumped on the door with hard-pressed fists because they wanted to see their son.

Hal was the one that suggested the restraining order from Kelloran after the incident with the knife - the third and final straw. There was an imminent threat there and it needed to be taken care of succinctly, in the eyes of justice. Dave took it out and all the evidence he needed was a photo of Kel outside his house with the blade in their hands and the anger in their eyes. A threat to the young boy that lived there. Perhaps he did not anticipate that but he was glad he got his way. Perhaps he did not quite understand his feelings, but he had felt something and it had damn near saved Dave’s life. Maybe. He can’t tell.

They did breach it. They would creep in to the picture every now and then, try and position themselves to spend time with Ash. The damage was done and every time, Hal would threaten to tell the police. Really, he should’ve done it. He told himself that every time, but he simply began to think that it would make them angrier. He kept the threats tucked neatly in his wallet. He still does.

There have been others. Other relationships Dave has had that do not last long; maybe this is Hal’s fault, by staring them down to judge their character. To say ‘do not hurt Dave - I will make sure you suffer if you do.’ They never get close enough to do much other than meet Ash. They’ll be scared away by the pills Dave takes, or the bad days where he can’t move. Or the fact that he can’t give people sex because his son sleeps in his room. Hal is the constant. Does he feel good about that? Does that make him a better person? He doesn’t know.

“Do you think this makes me look fat?” Dave holds a sweetly pink sweater up against his body. He turns to the mirror and raises an eyebrow. 

“Do you care?” Hal shakes his head and taps at his wrist. He’s the chubby one. “You’re not fat.”

“ _Yet_.”

They’re stood in a dressing room, with a handful of clothes that Dave has been trying on one by one. As a kind of revitalisation thing, because he’s feeling a little down for very little reason and he’s always benefitted from retail therapy. Not that buying things is a good alternative to real therapy. But he suddenly hates the way he’s been looking for months.

“Is there someone you’re trying to impress?” Hal grows closer to him. Dave has never really put much stock in to the way he looks; he’s never really cared. Why now? “Are you trying to get another boyfriend?”

“No. No, I’m not.” Dave scoffs. “I’m just. Trying to look a bit better, it might help with the depression.” 

“I don’t think weight is what you need to worry about. And you _like_ sweaters. They look good on you.”

“What do I need to worry about?”

“Either grow an actual beard or shave your whiskers off, put some moisturiser on, maybe tame your eyebrows because they look like slugs.” Hal shrugs nonchalantly, growing a bit closer. Dave giggles. “It’s a nice sweater, though. You should get it.”

“Isn’t it weird that I only _ever_ wear sweaters, though? Even in the summer. Sweaters and sweatpants?”

“I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything else, I can’t really say.” Hal shrugs. “Have you tried jeans?”

“I used to wear jeans!” Dave exclaims.

“You wore jeans for high school then went back to sweatpants whenever we went out.” 

“God, I did, didn’t I? Maybe I should just stick to sweaters but. Start on chunky jewellery?” 

“Dave, I don’t want to be rude, but you can’t pull off chunky jewellery. You don’t need chunky jewellery, you need a sweater vest and a polo shirt-“

“You mean what you wore for the whole of high school?”

“Yes.” Hal nods, semi-pleased with himself.

“Maybe I should just embrace the whole dad look? Get some loafers with insoles and maybe a fitted trouser. And a bomber jacket.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“I should grow a 70s moustache and-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Hal shakes his head viciously. “Absolutely not. You’re gonna remind me of my granddad. But, if you want the dad look, how about a silk shirt and some cargo pants?”

“Would they go with the cane, though?”

“We could probably find a Hawaiian shirt with the same pattern as your cane. Or similar.”

They spend a while looking through reams of clothes until Hal does find something reminiscent of the cane Dave brandishes. It’s a little baggy but it fits, and he pairs it with beige cargo pants. Him and Hal can’t stop laughing over it, especially when they catch his reflection in a mirror. He looks ridiculous, and it’s funny and they can’t believe that he’s really out there looking like that. They fuck around and pretend to be middle aged men, sniffing their noses at anything new-fangled. Act like they’re going to go day drinking and play golf. Dave owns it, struts around and nearly chokes on his drink when he remembers what he’s wearing, what he’s doing. 

Weekends are still good, even now. Where they can be young as they are, and free from their old responsibilities like work and night school and prescriptions and Ash. Frank offered to take him so they could have some time on their own. Returning home to Hal’s apartment and seeing them both watching TV is a relief. Ash cuddled up with Frank, looking peaceful where he is. Dave makes hamburgers and Ash is practically magnetised to the kitchen table; though Frank has fallen asleep and the moment Ash leaves his lap he falls over on to his side. Tuckered out. Dave heaves a warm blanket up over his shoulders, tucks a few pillows under his head. It’s not the best place to fall asleep but Frank sighs in comfort.

“What did you do today, Ash?” Dave asks, darting his eyes over to look at his son. Ash is eating sleepily, his eyes half closed. His hamburger is in his hand, wet with ketchup and practically falling apart. He doesn’t respond to Dave, only takes another languorous bite of his hamburger. “Ash? Anybody home?”

Again, Ash doesn’t respond. His hamburger lands on the floor with a wet splatter of sauce and grease; not even that rouses him. He falls against the back of the highchair and lets out a snore.

“Okay, baby, I think it might be bedtime.” Dave stands, and with the sleeve of his cardigan he wipes away the red gunk covering Ash’s mouth. He picks his son up, thankful the boy’s already in his pyjamas, and walks slowly to their bedroom, kicks open the door with a gentle tap of his foot, and sets the child down in his zoo-like crib.

Almost instinctively, Ash turns over on to his belly. He’s done that since he was old enough to roll, and he lays with his half a leg straight out and his other leg drawn up to his chest. His arms do the same thing, his hand balls up in to the softest, sweetest fist. Dave draws Ash’s crocheted blanket over his waist and strokes his back, pats it a few times before he’s certain Ash is settled and ready to sleep.

“Night night, papa.” Ash drones in to his thin mattress, voice growing slower and heavier in to sleep.

“Night night, baby.” The corners of Dave’s lips trickle upwards. “Sleep well, my sweet little prince.”

Ash mumbles something that Dave can’t quite make out, but he leaves all the same and helps Hal mop the entrails of Ash’s dinner off the floor. They listen to music quietly on Hal’s record player in his room as not to disturb peaceful Frank, clearly sleeping Ash’s hijinks off. Hal sits on the bed with his legs crossed, Dave prefers to sit with them out. The music is quiet but certainly not calm, they bring a few drinks and have a rowdy chat about just about everything. When later hours come around, Hal stops the music and they watch TV instead. Endless episodes of mindless shows they have loved poking fun at since they were kids.

“Okay, that-“ Dave points at the screen, having barely finished swallowing his drink. “That is _bullshit_. That is _not_ how a DNA test works. They don’t even have the father’s DNA, how can they get his identity?”

“Maybe they have it on record?” Hal raises an eyebrow. “Can they keep it on record?”

“I. I don’t think so? Isn’t this supposed to be realistic? This isn’t even CIA.” 

“I don’t know.” Hal shrugs, palms his way around for the remote control. “Do you want to put something else on, or should we keep at this?”

“Yeah, change it.” Dave shakes his head. “Man, I’m tired.”

“You’re tired? Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“I could.” There’s apprehension in his voice. Hal knows this mood of his all too well.

“You’re scared?” Hal looks over suddenly. “You know they’re not going to find you here.”

Dave shakes his head slowly, furrows his brow, leans his weight against the headboard. Hal pauses the TV at a bright moment, guides Dave down flat on the bed and opens his arms broadly. Dave fills them, puts his head against Hal’s shoulder.

“I _am_ scared. What if they find us?” Dave’s voice is barely a whisper, hoarse with messy fear.

“You know what, I think if they were going to find us, then they would’ve already. You know how they are. You need an access card for this floor, and another just for this door... we’re going to be safe here, I promise.” Hal says softly. “You and Ash are safe... besides, Frank is twice their size, he could bench press them. Well, I’ve never done a bench press, I don’t really know what one is - but I’m sure he could do it.”

Dave giggles in to Hal’s shoulder. “It’s all gonna be okay, isn’t it?”

“It is. We are one hundred percent safe here.” Hal runs his finger down Dave’s sideburn, and he feels Dave fall slack with relief beneath him. 

“This... This is like being fifteen.” Dave fits his arms around his best friend’s back, and presses his nose up against Hal’s. “Where it’s you and me against the world, early in the morning. Where I don’t have to worry about Kelloran and the worst thing in the world is the English test on Tuesday or your dad finding us awake.”

“Do you remember sneaking downstairs to find another tape - because we’d never brought up the last volumes?” Hal asks, trying to soothe Dave a little more. He feels him relaxing, the tense air falling from the space around them. “I was holding them, because you had the snacks, and Sal had just snuck in, and I nearly dropped the tapes because I thought she was my mother?” 

Dave nods, because he can remember it like it was yesterday. They weren’t supposed to be awake - and had specifically not taken the later volumes up because it would’ve been obvious they were staying up - but they’d crept down from the attic on the pads of their feet taking the utmost care not to creak against the old floorboards of the Chandra family home. It had been a delicate operation; Dave had taken precisely two cans of soda from the back of the stack in the refrigerator and anxiously timed the popcorn in the microwave, while Hal had silently clattered his fingers against the shelves of video tapes to find the next volumes of the space documentaries they so loved. Then, with their bounty tucked cautiously in their arms, they began to make the trek back upstairs, when Sal - Hal’s sister, senior by three and a half years - had entered through the front door, staring them both in the eyes. Half asleep and fully astounded by fear, they scrambled with all the intent of making it out of her line of sight before she could register them, before finally making it up to the attic. 

Dave can still feel the rush of adrenaline in his chest when he thinks back to that night. When they realised who it had been, they couldn’t stop laughing, and they had to cover their mouths with both of their hands as to not wake Hal’s parents from their light slumbers. They proudly enjoyed their cargo of documentaries and lukewarm popcorn and fizzing soda. Kids, doing as kids should.

He learned less than a year ago that Hal’s parents were very much aware of these frequent midnight voyages. Had seen their son and his best friend as intrepid explorers trying not to wake beasts of old. It turns out that many times they had let one too many floorboards creak and woken them both up, but they had ignored the teenagers and settled back down. It turns out they only put the ‘in bed by the time we are’ rules in to stop them from rolling around the floor in laughter. So long as they tried to be quiet, they were fine with it - they were only boys, and they were boys pursuing knowledge at that. Neither Dave or Hal know if they knew Sal was sneaking around, but they would never tell, even now.

“You’ve always been there for me - even then, you gave the signal to run. I really am going to be okay.”

“You are.” Hal smiles, though the TV’s turned itself off automatically and Dave can’t see. Instead he draws his hand up to the short hair that covers the back of Dave’s head and scratches him behind the ear. _Goodnight_.

Dave settles in one place he has always felt safe. In the arms of his closest friend, who has been his second family since the day they met. Since Dave sat down by Hal in chemistry and received a ‘hello’ cookie as a hello-new-lab-partner-gift. Who has seen every part of him, the good, bad, and ugly. Who he has seen every part of. 

“Goodnight, Hal.”

“Goodnight, Dave.”


	5. Chapter 5

[ LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss)

**{CW - alcohol mention}**

“You want apple juice or orange juice?” It’s an age old question, one Dave asks every day. Normally with a third option, but today he is pretending it’s not there in the hopes that Ash won’t notice.

“Tea!” Ash chirps. Dave’s heart stops as his son’s features rearrange themselves. “Tea, please, papa.”

“I can’t, baby. We’re all out. No more tea.” He says softly, and braces himself for tears.

“Oh.” Ash says dejectedly. He looks like he might cry, sniffles forming on his breath, when Dave whisks him up from the highchair and holds him with his head over his shoulder. 

“I’ll go get some more soon, but you have to wait.” Dave says softly, hoping his son won’t let out more than a few tears. “ _Hey_ , don’t you cry. Uncle Hal’s not even awake yet, we don’t want to wake him up.” 

Ash nods solemnly, and Dave wipes a few of the brewing tears away. “Orange juice, please.”

Ash sips his orange juice cuddled in Dave’s lap. It will do. It’s not nearly as sweet as he would like and he has to drink it from a real cup because of the pulp. The slight bitter tang of the juice makes him splutter, stick his tongue out and shake his head, at which point Dave takes the offending drink away and leaves it on the countertop while he takes his son to brush his teeth.

He sits Ash on the edge of the sink and gets kicked by an oscillating leg as he brushes across his tiny teeth with an equally tiny brush, making a point to traverse them in perfect little circles. Two minutes, and thirty seconds on the tongue. He explains the whole process to his son twice a day - even though he _knows_ Ash is not listening and has his head in the clouds - in the hopes he’ll have good habits in the future. Before they’re done, Ash dribbles toothpaste spittle all over his pyjama top. Dave makes a mental note to wash it.

He gets Ash dressed, drags a brush through his sweet unruly curls, expresses a moment of sadness at the fact his little boy’s hair is quietly fading away from the beautiful blonde it used to be when he was born. At the roots, it’s transformed from a delicate ashy blonde to the same colour as Dave’s. 

When his little boy is dressed and occupied by a stack of colourful blocks, he quickly takes a shower, washes his hair, takes ibuprofen, naproxen, esomeprazole, testosterone; applies a capsaicin cream to his bad hip (which he has been advised to do _again_ despite his complaints it doesn’t work) and brushes his own teeth. As he’s coming out the bathroom drying his hair off with a towel, Hal is coming out his bedroom yawning. Dave shuttles over to the kitchen to make him a coffee, and hands it to him by the time he’s stumbling out the bathroom with a yawn plastered on his face. Hal needs his shirt ironed and his breakfast made and Dave must find his eyepatches because he forgot where he put them. 

When Hal is at work, there is more to be done still. Counters to wipe down, a bottle warmer to clean out, a son to cuddle, hair to style and brush, a stroller to pop up. A son to be strapped in, tucked in, given a teddy bear. Dangles from the bar that have to be wiped down at the last moment and a pacifier to be hastily sterilised before taking him down the elevator, filing his access card away in his wallet. He has to haul the stroller on to a bus to get to the store, pick up a teddy that Ash throws out of his stroller. Says hello to the man in the store kindly as he reaches for the largest box of teabags they have and buys it as his son clamours excitedly in his stroller. He has other things to pick up; bleach, coffee filters, butter, milk. He takes Ash home, feeds him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut in to sticks, makes him a batch of cold sweet tea. Packs his gallon jug full of ice and pours his tea over it, so thick it might be syrup. When it’s done after a whine-filled hour in the refrigerator he pours some in to Ash’s little sippy bottle, and a tall glass for himself. Ash lays down on the couch with his bottle and sips with his eyes half shut while Dave silently reads. He really is his father’s son.

“Papa?” Ash looks up, bottle empty. “Tea, please.”

“You want more tea?”

“Yes, papa.” He holds his bottle up, Dave refills it, adds ice to stop him from sucking it dry so fast. When it’s safely back in his hands it’s back to sipping with his eyes shut, until he sleepily drops it on the couch.

Dave’s about to leave him in his crib when he reaches out and whines a protest loudly. He tries to leave Ash on his own in bed but Ash will only cry. Separation anxiety. Dave sits hunched over the crib and rubs his hand across his son’s cheek until he’s well settled in to his afternoon nap, sleeping and snoring with his arms up past his head and his little nose turned up. 

Dave cleans down the kitchen down again and cooks dinner for him and Hal, makes softer baby food for his son for when he wakes up. Realises something - fuck - he went to sleep later than usual. He’ll be up later in the evening. There’s nothing he can do; he ties up the marinated beef he started the night before, smacks it down on the slotted tray, drizzles garlic butter over chopped shallots and julienned carrots in the bottom. While he’s waiting for the roast in the oven he takes a codeine to soothe his pounding head, sits down curled up while he waits for it to kick in. 

“Hey, Dave.” Frank says with a smile. Dave looks up from an unexpected nap to find the scent of garlic all around him. He stretches languorously, stumbles up to check the time. A few minutes left on the roast. Ash is still asleep - _fuck it_ , he thinks, deciding to hope he sleeps until tomorrow. He realises he still hasn’t responded to Frank and grinds on his lips with his teeth.

“Frank.” He says - more letting it out breathily. “Hello, how was work? Where’s Hal?”

“Oh, he went to get his family from the airport. They kinda, dropped in. Weird.”

Dave hurriedly checks his phone and sees a bunch of unread texts from Hal.

hi dave i do not know when you will be awake but im bringing my family home  
  
i left Frank there but you will need to wake up before the timer goes off im not sure if he knows what to do  
  


“ _Fuck_.” His eyes widen, mouth nearly drops agape but he catches it in time. The timer beeps and he turns the oven off, with bigger fish to fry than the food he’s making.

Hal why didn’t you tell me this earlier????  
  
i thought you knew they were coming  
  
why would you put on a roast last night if you didn’t know?  
  
oh, holy fuck THAT’s why I put the roast on??? oh shit  
  
you’re telling me you made a fancy dinner and forgot why?  
  
that is. exactly what I’m saying.  
  
okay. i HAVE to clean  
  


Without even blinking an eye, he’s whisking the vacuum cleaner up in to his hands, sliding the draft protector under his door so Ash won’t hear the roaring motors sucking up dirt from the floor. Checks Ash is still breathing while he’s at it, spends a moment stroking his cheek just to watch them draw up in to a sleepy smile. He runs it up and down the hall to pick up the dark hairs that tumble downwards from his and Hal’s shoulders. Leaves his cane by the door so he won’t make little marks across the freshly sucked carpeting. The windows are clean enough and thank god the kitchen is clean but he pays special attention to the fluffy rug and the couch, furiously running the vacuum around Frank. He sets it away, fluffs the pillows, takes the meat out the oven to rest it in the open air with a puff of garlicky steam. He sets the marble table ready for seven people and one toddler, should he awaken. He’s so caught up in it he doesn’t notice Frank very gingerly trying to help.

He’s so clearly out of place as opposed to Dave’s cleaning frenzy. Dave gives him a little smile as thanks, tells him without many words to sit down. Instead Frank wanders aimlessly, trying to help, picking little things up off the floor. He wants to help. It feels unfair to let Dave work while he sits idly. He comes from a big family - that’s the way it is.

“Hey, Dave, is there anything you need me to do? Anything you need for dinner?” He tilts his head, having realised he’s out of dust motes to organise. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, swings himself from side to side nervously. “Like, um. Wine, or drinks?”

“What’s wrong?” Dave leans against the counter, tearing apart the way Frank carries himself in his head. “Hey - there’s nothing to be anxious about here. It’s fine.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says softly. 

“I don’t need any help, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I _want_ to help.”

Dave rolls his eyes and beckons him over, hand scuttling around the counter for a fork. He lifts it up, stabs a carrot and holds it up to Frank’s mouth, one eyebrow raised. Frank, with a moment of hesitation, takes it in to his mouth and chews for a moment before his face draws upwards in to some surprised expression, and finally a smile when he’s finished chewing.

“That’s fuckin’ good!” He exclaims, and Dave can tell it’s genuine. “Holy shit. I _hate_ carrots, but that?”

“It’s good, is it?” Dave smiles, mouth raised in to a grin. “There’s something else you can do. I’m too short to get the wine down from the shelf.”

Frank’s more than happy to help, but even he has to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the deep red bottles. He manages to rescue two, both of which Dave has a field day brushing the caked dust off of. Frank polishes the glassware while Dave sets out the vegetables, leaving the hot roast covered with a warm, wet cloth. He’ll open it later.

“So, this wine... who’s it for? Hal doesn’t drink, I hate wine, you don’t strike me as the type... and clearly not Ash.”

“Hal’s ma.” Dave explains. “And his sister. But you’re right, they’re the only ones that enjoy it. His dad’s abhorred by the stuff. In the nine, ten years I have basically been his son, I’ve seen him drink _once_. New Year’s Eve, two years ago because Hal had turned 21 and he wouldn’t be setting a bad example.”

“ _Huh_.” Frank nods slowly. 

There’s a pattering along the hallway outside, and Hal presses his access card on the reader, letting him and his small cacophony of family in. His mother, his sister, and his father all follow him in, take their shoes off and kick them in to the little shoe holder. His mother is a tall-ish woman with long, curling black hair that puffs up from her forehead and falls backwards in to a thick braid. His father is a much smaller man with soft features, tied back hair. Unlike his wife, he doesn’t put much in to his appearance. Avni Chandra squeals as she runs to hug Dave, run her hands through his hair and make a general fuss over him.

“How’s my precious boy?” She asks, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Good to see you, Avni.” Dave smiles, wrapping his arms around her. “How have you been?”

“Oh, we’ve been fine... where’s my darling little Ashie, hm?”

“Ash is asleep. He didn’t sleep well last night, I think he’s just catching up.” She pulls away from him, turns her attention to Frank. “You got yourself a new boyfriend?”

“No, Frank’s not my boyfriend.” Dave shakes his head, Frank nods in agreement.

Dave sets out the food and cuts the roast and it’s delicious. Dinner is convivial and Frank doesn’t feel like a guest - more part of the family. He seems to gel very well with Avni and Sal, not that he can gel very much with Chandra (Hal’s father, who for some reason goes by his last name) because he doesn’t speak very much other than to compliment the food. It takes much longer to eat than it should because all they do is talk, until the food is nearly cold but still delicious. 

Frank can’t stay the night because there aren’t any beds, and that becomes quite obvious, but he’s alright with it. Still he seems to awkwardly stick around because he’s scared to go home. Late night rolls around and he is still meaning to go but is stuck in the transitioning phase between staying and leaving, kicking around in the hallway. Dave is kind enough to join him, as he slides his shoes on and fumbles for his coat, his scarf, and his cane.

“Are you going somewhere?” Frank asks quietly. 

“Yeah, I’m taking you home.” Dave nods. “I know you wanna go, it’s okay.”

Frank smiles sheepishly and plays with his sleeves. “I guess I overstayed my welcome.”

“You didn’t, you just felt you did and that but was obvious. Come on.” He tilts his head towards the door, Frank slides his shoes on and says goodbye to everyone. Dave asks Hal politely if he can cosset Ash and keep him soothed while he’s gone.

“Thanks.” Frank says quietly as the elevator descends. “Also, the food was great. I don’t think I ever properly told you. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

“I don’t know, I just kinda. Picked it up.” Dave shrugs - he doesn’t really know himself. It’s just something that happened. “What bus do you take?”

“South line, downtown to my duplex. It’s that stop by the old theatre, then about a fifteen minute walk. I can do it myself if you wanna go back.”

“No, I want to stay with you.” Dave smiles patiently, and it’s not done out of some kind of forced care. It feels genuine, as genuine as it can get. Because he does care. Because he doesn’t want Frank to make that journey on his own so late at night.

“Dave...” He mumbles. “It’s. Dangerous there.”

“And you expect me to let you go there on your own? Hell no.”

“I don’t need protecting.” He says, even quieter, halfway suspecting Dave will have some quip equipped to fight the sentiment back.

“Yeah, well. I _want_ to.” Dave shrugs again, because to him it’s simple. “I want to look out for you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. We all have to look out for each other, you look out for me, I’ll do the same for you.”

The cold air of the night smacks them like a whip as they leave the comfort, safety, and light of Hal’s apartment complex. The only noise is the occasional passing car and the thud of Dave’s cane on the sidewalk as they silently make rendezvous with the bus stop, awaiting the bus that takes the south line route.

“You okay by there?” Frank asks, looking over as they stand in the bitter chill of the night. Dave’s cheeks turn red, Frank can just about make it out under the soft yellow of the streetlamp shining atop them. “Your hip. It’s late. Your pills might’ve - what’s the word, god. Um. I forgot.” He stares blankly at the tarmac.

“It’s okay, take your time.” Dave says with a soft smile, leaning on his cane.

“ _Worn_ off. Did they wear off?”

“No, actually. I’ve had a pretty good day, and I always keep some painkillers in my pocket, so I’ll be okay if push comes to shove.” His nose twitches as he looks up at Frank with a smile. He notices a slight shiver in the way his companion moves. “You cold?”

“Um. Maybe a little.” Frank admits shyly. Without hesitation, Dave peels his big orange scarf from under his coat and wraps it around Frank like a shawl. It’s warm, it smells like him, and Frank buries his face in it to stop the sting of the quiet, but omnipresent wind. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

The empty, warm bus pulls up and Frank silently pays Dave’s fare along with presenting his card. He can’t explain why he owns a car and still pays for public transport every month, prefers the safety of the bus to his old car. It makes things harder for him. He *can* drive. Him and Dave sit down on some of the nicer chairs, him by the window and Dave by the aisle. He crosses his cane over his legs nearly as the bus springs in to motion.

“Thank you for paying.”

“Oh - it’s. It’s nothing. You’re welcome.” Frank can’t explain why his words are suddenly jittery but they are and he’s terrified he might say the wrong thing. “I can’t believe Ash slept for so long. He’s been out cold since I got in.”

“Me too. He didn’t sleep well last night, only a few hours - he just woke up, wouldn’t settle and we were up real early.”

“Bad dreams, maybe?”

“That’s what I think. They start about now, he’s been waking up really upset and he quivers like hell and I just have to wrap him up and hold him until he calms down.”

“He must’ve been really scared.”

“He’s supposed to stop sleeping as much, round about now, but I think he just really likes being asleep.” 

“Weird kid.”

“Yeah, but he’s my little weirdo.” He pauses for a moment, looks out the window. “Why did Hal’s parents randomly come over?”

“I don’t know. I was hanging out with him, when his mom called him to say she was at the airport. I stayed because you were asleep and I didn’t want Ash on his own-“

“Aw!” Dave exclaims. “That’s so _sweet_.”

“What do you expect, he’s a little sweetheart.” Frank says, a tiny smile growing on his face. “And you were out cold so I just. Thought it would be better if he had someone there if or when he woke up... you don’t mind, do you?”

“I don’t. Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem - what else was I gonna do? I have basically nothing to do outside work, might as well stay. Also I was scared I’d have to take dinner out, I was considering waking you up but I didn’t want you to yell at me.” 

“I wouldn’t have yelled.” Dave says softly. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you were pretty in to sleeping and I didn’t want you to be mad, I didn’t know how long you’d been asleep for and I knew you might not have slept much because of Ash and how he likes to wake up so I just. Didn’t.”

“Hey, I’d never yell at you.” He soothes, an upwards inflection in his voice that’s deliberately comforting and reassuring. “There’s no point in it. We’re adults, I can use reason with you. Plus, it hurts my voice.”

“Hang on, I have some of those soother things.” Frank jostles around in his pockets, full of small papers and candies he stuffs in and forgets about. He produces an unopened pack of lozenges that he bought a few weeks prior and promptly forgot existed, and hands it over to Dave. “There. If you ever need to yell at someone, you have those.”

Dave can’t help but laugh loudly at the gesture, a sound sweet as honey and warmer than a hearth. Frank, for just a moment, is caught up in it, it’s softness and it’s ring. As they continue to talk on the way home he’s not sure why he fixates on that little blip of noise, or why Dave’s smile seems like warmth incarnate, why he wants to be close to him. Why he brushes up against Dave as they walk to his home, safeguards him from the road even if it’s lost its buzz at this time of night. There’s another type of buzz deep within his chest that more than makes up for it, that he can’t place towards any emotion.

He lets Dave in on the pretence of fixing him up a warm drink. Warm milk with honey; juvenile but still sweet, as sweet as him as he practically falls against the counter in tiredness. Soft with worry, Frank pulls him upright, checks his pulse with two fingers and watches how he tumbles down.

“I think you should stay the night.” Frank suggests quietly. He desperately doesn’t want it to be taken the wrong way. “I couldn’t. Guarantee you’d be safe, you’re way too tired.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He says quietly. “Hal will take care of Ash when he wakes up, it’ll be okay.”

“Thank you. I’ll get you something nice and warm to wear.” He lets out a smile of sorts, rummages for a threadbare but comfortable T-shirt and a pair of shorts made of more pills than fabric. 

He realises that he didn’t think this through when there’s nowhere for Dave to sleep. He considers letting him sleep on the couch when he sheepishly invites Dave to sleep with him, a motion that Dave simply drifts along with. A pillow in between them, Dave sleeps on his side and Frank his front, laying a lot like Ash does and facing his friend. His chest is filled with that buzz again, thumping and fighting at his bones and muscles to contract and do anything, even if he doesn’t know what that anything is.

“I like your bedding.” Dave says softly, but they both know what he’s really thinking. “It’s really soft.”

This is an innate display of trust. Not only has he entered Frank’s home, it’s suddenly ever so obvious they haven’t known each other that long. That they are relative strangers, and sharing a bed. There’s an urge for him to move, to leave the bed because he very suddenly feels unsafe there. This is a new place.

Yet there is a first time for everything, so he stays. Because he wants to trust Frank, because he feels that Frank is worth trusting and that it’s not a mistake to try because it’s not like they have _just_ met, and Hal has known Frank for years. So maybe he shifts a little closer, eases a little smile on to his face. Frank pulls the blanket up over Dave’s shoulders, his touch doesn’t linger and his arm retreats to his chest quickly. As much as he wants to be affectionate he can’t because he knows it’ll scare Dave away.

“This is awkward.” Frank says, partway to admitting his own defeat. This was a stupid idea. “I can go sleep on the couch-“

“No, stay.” Dave reaches a hand out and brushes against Frank’s arm with it. He’s not sure why he does it. His hands are soft and tender, so much warmer than the dim room that surrounds them. “Stay.”

“I don’t want you to feel unsafe.”

“I don’t feel unsafe.” He shakes his head. “I really don’t. Do you feel unsafe?”

“No.” 

“Okay.” 

He puts his hand in the middle of the bed. Frank meets it halfway with his own. The touch is light at first, before Frank’s hand goes loose. He silently runs it over Dave’s hand. 

“You’re not used to this.” Dave probes softly and his hand stays where it is, right under the weight of Frank’s.

“This hasn’t happened since I was. Nineteen.”

“You’re lonely.” Dave concludes.

A moment of silence, where Frank really looks at himself. Is this the intimacy being alone in bed with someone brings? How does he know? He doesn’t feel lonely. He never has, but Dave’s dredged it up and maybe it does stir some feelings he’s largely ignored. It’s hard not to feel lonely when your mind makes you feel you’re separated from anyone else, when you double take every move you make. A veil Dave is trying hard to pierce for whatever reason, and that Hal has pierced over the years.

“Maybe.” Is what he responds with. He reaches his other hand out, runs it over the side of Dave’s face touching the bed. The juxtaposition of whiskers and soft cheeks collide over Frank’s senses. Dave’s eyes flutter shut, and a little smile opens. “You’re lonely too.”

“I try not to be, but you’re right. Sometimes I am. Even though I live with Hal and Ash, sometimes I feel alone. I think a lot of people do.”

“I don’t want you to feel lonely.”

“I don’t want you to feel lonely either.”

Silence settles like a blanket of ash and they find themselves sleeping, hands still linked and heads almost pressed together.


	6. Chapter 6

[ LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss)

Dave rushes off the next day, before even making breakfast because Ash wasn’t happy about his papa leaving and Hal called, desperate for help because he just wouldn’t quit crying. Still Frank’s mind lingers on Dave, and that desperate tinge to his voice when he said he wanted Frank to stay. The softness of his hand under Frank’s own. How soft would his waist have been under his hands? His cheeks were soft - would his lips have been soft too? What would it have been like to- he stops himself there, because he can’t bear to think of what Dave might say if he knew what Frank was thinking.

“Where’d you and Dave go?” Hal asks him, handing him a coffee.

“Oh, he stayed over, he was way too tired to get back on his own.” Frank explains, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal but today has rolled around and he can’t get Dave out of his head. 

When he works, he can’t focus on his mundane tasks. He is thinking about Dave’s soft body and his sweet blushing cheeks and his mounds of curly hair. There’s a strange fixation he puts on the shape Dave’s body makes; the bare lines, which he sketches out over and over again rather than working even though he can’t draw well. The paperwork rots in his drawer while the rudimentary form of his friend takes shape on the page. The curve of his lips and the ring of light in his eyes. Thick eyelashes, pretty-boy chestnut curls; the poster boy of confusion. 

Being attracted to Dave is difficult because he does not want to objectify his friend. He’s scared he walks a line where he could easily offend Dave should he, by some machination, find out about the way Frank really feels. There’s a deep feeling of disgust that runs through him about the whole ordeal and he tries to push it down but it stresses him tenfold when he isn’t picking every facet of it apart. He tries to look back at the way Dave said things to see if he cares but he’s too stressed to remember.

Either way, when Hal invites him over he succinctly says no. Says that Hal should be spending time with his family. Hal says Frank is like family - then gets the message that Frank would much rather be alone. 

Being alone after the night before is a strange feeling. He returns to an empty home, where there is nobody to make him food and nobody to cuddle. He quietly sits and waits. Tries to watch TV. That’s when Dave texts.

Frank, I really need your help  
  
Ash is. Really upset because Hal’s whole family is here it’s just absolutely too much for him.  
  
  
I know it’s a lot and I know you don’t want to be bothered but. Please can we come over he really needs the peace  
  
he’s only little.  
  


It’s the ‘he’s only little’ that makes him give in.

of course you guys can come over.  
  
sorry, i had a headache, i feel better now though. hard day.  
  
oh, thank you.  
  
we’ll be over soon, whenever I can wrestle him in to the stroller  
  
it’s okay, take your time.  
  
like i just never have anything to do y’know? i appreciate the company  
  


Dave hurries over after that, and Ash is a state, cheeks red and eyes puffy. Frank takes Ash in to his own arms and rocks him from side to side until he’s sure that it’s working, then he beckons Dave in. He drags in the stroller behind him, folds it up and tucks it away neatly. Frank doesn’t say much - opting to simply gesture for Dave to sit down and make him a drink while soothing Ash. 

It takes a few minutes of rocking and petting until Ash calms down; even then he is fussy, but Frank can sit down with him and put a blanket over the child invading his lap.

“It’s okay, little guy.” Frank whispers to Ash, scratching his head which seems to calm him down. 

“You’re really good with him.” Dave smiles, sipping at the tea Frank’s given him. “And thank you - Hal was close to tears himself because Ash just. Wouldn’t quieten and he got so stressed-“

“It’s okay... do I have to scratch your head too?” Frank asks playfully, then presses a little kiss to the top of Ash’s head. “Truth be told, I kinda like hanging out with him. Even if he’s two.”

He’s not two yet. Twenty months, maybe twenty one, but growing up fast. Dave forgets how old he is sometimes.

“Oh, speaking of. Um. It’s his birthday in a few months and I. Wondered if you wanted to come to his party.”

“Will there be cake?” 

“Yeah.” Dave nods.

“I’ll be there. How come you take so long to plan it?”

“I like things to be perfect.” He shrugs, lays back on the couch and stretches his bad leg out over on to the ottoman. “Hard day. He wasn’t happy after last night and he doesn’t like the fact there are more people in the house than normal.”

“You guys can stay here if you need it.” Frank sighs, and on the inside he damn near screams because he doesn’t want to admit what he’s feeling for Dave to himself. If Ash needs it, he tells himself. For his little buddy. “Truth be told, I’d rather you did. I don’t want him to be distressed.”

A kind-natured sentiment comes off weirder than expected, and Frank winces and cringes while looking away. Dave is silent for a moment, mulling over what to say because genuinely, he’s not sure how to respond. 

“You don’t have to, it was just an idea, to help him sleep.” Frank says quickly, clocking the puzzlement evident on Dave’s face. Trying to dissent the awkward aura that he thinks has grown in the room.

“Do you want us to? Like, really. Because I don’t want us to impose. But you’re right, it would probably be best for him.” Dave says after a few more awkward moments. “I can’t believe he’s so calm with you.”

“Me neither, I was told he was. Famously dubious of strangers. Also, it’s not imposing on anything if you stay, I haven’t really got anything else to do.”

“He _is_ dubious of strangers, that’s the worst part. But. Hal. He mentioned he thought you wanted time to yourself and I really don’t want to invade that just because my kid won’t stop crying.”

“I think you underestimate how much I like hanging out with Ash.” Frank shrugs, running his hands through the toddler’s hair and ruffling it. Ash shuts his eyes and becomes somewhat floppy against him. Peacefully sleeping. “Oh, _shit_. Guess you have to stay now, huh?”

Dave lifts his son’s hand and strokes it. “Out fuckin’ cold. I can take him home-“

“No.” Frank says softly, with a smile. “He’s better off here, and I could use the company.”

As the hours pass, Frank finds Dave curled up by his side. They watch TV. Ash wakes up and plays with his stuffed friends for a while, tumbling around on their laps, before settling in the crook of Frank’s arm to babble about what’s on the TV, a little running commentary that doesn’t really explain all too much. It’s good to see his language skills are advancing.

The worst part is that it’s so easy to imagine this being his everyday life. With his _boyfriend_ comfortably cuddled in to his side and his _son_ making quips at the TV- no. Not at all. It’s not easy. But it is. But it’s _not_. He debates it over in his head as Dave and Ash sit with him peacefully. If this was his life, he could lean in for the softest little kiss on Dave’s head as he stood up to make dinner, hands latching and slowly falling apart as they debate on who should cook. Or maybe when he was playing with Ash, Ash would call him daddy and cry out for him whenever he fell on his poor little face. He could hear that sweet little giggle whenever he wanted to. He could roll over in bed to hold the softest man in the world, who would groan softly at first but his lips would flicker in to a smile as Frank kissed-

No.

Stop.

 _Please_.

Unsure of what to do, he sits and keeps Ash entertained with the TV. He tries not to yearn for it, tries to convince himself to some downsides. Ash never sleeps properly. Dave doesn’t want a partner after Kel hurt him. This part of town is dangerous because people drive like idiots and he’s sure there are drugs everywhere and he doesn’t want Ash around that all the time and he _certainly_ can’t move in with Hal. Dave sees him as a friend even if they curled up together and cuddled. Ash sees him as an uncle. He’s not cut out to be a dad, he freaks out around kids and they get on his nerves - and oh, god, what if Ash got in to his adderall? Dave would never forgive him.

He piles a little more cynicism on to it, just to kill the flame while it still flickers. Dave does not need rescuing, he is perfectly capable of living on his own - and what if that’s what Frank wants him for? Why can’t he just have platonic relationships? Why does he have to fall in love with Dave? Is it because of his hip? Is it because it’s hard for him, and some part of Frank thinks he deserves sympathy and coddling; because he doesn’t! He’s proven time and time again he is more than capable of being on his own with Ash. He _wants_ to be alone with Ash.

“Are you okay? You’ve been quiet a long time.” Dave asks. The flame is not dead. It hasn’t been snuffed yet. That voice is still like the solace of warm sun against hands caught in the cold of winter, reminiscent of soft flowers and sweet cocoa. Of a crackling hearth at Christmas back when it still snowed, of the innocence of snow, the nostalgia of astronautic dreams they were too caught up in the real world to chase.

He could be anywhere with Dave, and that voice would still haunt him, the innate softness and intimacy he radiates would shape and meld to his very soul, his very feeling. Frank Poole considers himself a person that feels, a person that shows emotion effortlessly, that is able to shape the aura of every situation he is in to a warm and happy one. Despite his anxieties he knows what he is feeling but Dave Bowman stumps him, stops him in his outgoing tracks, stirs in him feelings he does not have the words for. 

But he knows what those words are. He is simply too scared to apply them.

That feeling is love. He is in _love_ , not the type he feels for his brother, or for Hal, but _romantic_ love. He is in love with Dave Bowman and everything he is - not the idea of him, not the idea of having a family, but Dave himself. He will take every single part of Dave and love it and cherish it. The whole package.

 _Oh_.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Frank says, but his voice jitters unconvincingly. Dave decides not to pry, even though he knows there is a problem. Frank cringes at the idea of Dave even knowing the nature of it, because he would know it meant one of two people. And he would know it was himself, too, because he’s not stupid. Because he knows that Frank does not act this way with Hal.

“Do you want dinner?”

“Sure, sure, uh. Do you want me to help?”

“You can if you want to.” Dave hoists himself up with his cane, slowly beckons him over. “What have you got?”

“Um. I don’t know.”

They slowly sift through the scarce variants of food he has, and find something to make. They settle on fried chicken because Dave knows how to make it. He can do it with very little oil and he knows how to check when the oil is hot and the chicken is done. Then he makes crispy fries, and potato skin slivers and crispy chicken skin. Frank watches carefully, on the guise of finding out how to make such a complicated recipe, but his eyes keep flitting to Dave’s face, the way he furrows his brow in deep concentration, sucks at his lip, taps on the knife with a finger while slicing meat apart. The strange quirks in his face are the most beautiful thing Frank has ever seen and it makes his heart pound.

Dinner is delicious, and not just because it’s a good recipe, but because Frank watched it be made with love and with care. He doesn’t feel he eats as well when Dave’s not around. Sometimes he forgets to. He doesn’t feel he can put that same energy in to everything he does.

They wrangle Ash in to the bath and wash his hair and Frank helps Dave dry the soft curls off. Getting him in to clothes is even more difficult, but they manage it, and it takes so much energy that he falls asleep in the crook of Frank’s arms. Frank tucks him in up to his chin, in his own bed, and offers to take the couch so Dave can sleep with his son unhindered. Co-sleeping is bad, the parenting books say, co-sleeping with two people is worse. 

Why is he looking at parenting books?

Dave notices them while he’s getting dressed in to Frank’s comfy clothes, which he is far too short for but just about big enough to wear. Library books, hastily stacked on a side table, each one in various stages of being read. He feels himself smile softly - Frank _cares_. Frank cares enough to take the time to try and learn a little something about caring for a child so he can help. Dave had just been eyeballing it until now, trying his best to keep his son happy, fed, and sleeping well. 

“Hey, Dave.” Frank pops his head in to the door, to see Dave in the later stages of pulling up the shorts Frank lent him. He covers his eyes In embarrassment. “Oh-“

“It’s fine, it’s just my ass.” Dave shrugs while whipping around, though his cheeks cry out in embarrassment. “Did. Did you want something?”

Frank’s eyes sidle over to the parenting books. He feels slightly judged, he shifts left and right on his feet.

“Uh. Um. I was-“ Truthfully, he forgot Dave was getting dressed and tried to walk in to his bathroom for a glass of water. He comes up with an excuse quickly. “ _Where do you want to sleep?”_

“Oh-“ Dave thinks for a moment. “I’ll... Where do you want to sleep?”

“I was gonna take the couch, if that was. Okay with you.” _Dumbass_ , he chides himself. _Of course he’s okay with that_.

“No, it’s not okay.” Dave shakes his head. “Frank, this is your _home_. I’ll sleep on the couch, as long as you don’t mind sleeping with Ash.”

Frank crosses his arms, bites his lip and lets his worry show. “Your hip. I won’t have it.”

“Frank-“ Dave puts his head in his hand, then sighs out. “I’m not kicking you out your bed.”

“Then we both sleep in it.” He shrugs, and gasps inwardly - he laid it out so simply. _Too_ simply, and it makes him seem like he wants something, it makes him seem like he-

“Okay.” Dave nods without friction.

Frank nearly gawks, and he has to restrain his own mouth from dropping. He didn’t expect that to work, he expected Dave to label him as some disgusting, horny monster, and then he thinks. Last night, and for that matter, _both_ times they have slept together, have entirely non sexual, and entirely safe. It was a test of trust and he passed with flying colours. Dave thinks he is safe. Dave _trusts_ him.

And by god, he trusts Dave too. A smile creeps in to the corner of his lips.

Yet again they join one another in bed. Ash sleeps soundly in the middle, Frank to his right, and Dave on his left. Blankets pulled up around their shoulders, smiling, warm, comfortable - feeling safe, feeling cared about. Whether they are friends or crushes doesn’t matter here because intimacy is the same either way; of course, it carries a different meaning but the feeling, the warmth inside Frank’s chest would be the same whether Dave was his weakest acquaintance or his husband of twenty years. His hand strays so politely to Dave’s jaw and once again he brushes his fingers against the dark, rough whiskers against his pale ivory skin and lets a smile stray out in to the dark.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been writing like mad.... Its gonna start getting Good Soon I promise. Soon

[ LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss)

**{CW - this chapter talks about food a lot, As Well As Dave Trauma And General Violence Discussion}**

The days pass by slowly. Every day he tries to justify it or try and let the feeling rot.

It’s not right to be in love with Dave. Dave looks after him. He sends affirming texts to make sure Frank is okay. Dave cares for him - why should Frank exploit that for a relationship? That’s disgusting. 

But Dave is soft. Dave is warm and kind and he’s not Frank’s father and he doesn’t have to say the things he does, or make food or check in with him - he does it alone because he wants to, because he’s a good person. He is funny and loves joking around and laughing. He likes to laugh about everything. He is handsome, and he has such beautifully arranged features and striking eyes and delicately pale skin and a crowning glory of short curly hair with the colour and shine of chestnuts. He is beautiful. He is everything Frank wants. He is perfect in every sense of the word.

Frank will remember he is in love and it will hit him so starkly and clearly that he forgets where he is, that he thinks about how warm Dave would be in his arms. How easy he is to love, how easy it would be to retreat in to his arms for relief after a long day. To sit on the couch together and coexist. How warm it would feel in his chest to say ‘I love you’ before they slept.

Dave let him in to his _home_ , in to his life, and this is what his mind does. That really _is_ pathetic. That is disgusting. 

“Do you think he looks better in the yellow or the blue?” Dave tilts his head, turning Ash around on the chair to exhibit a raincoat.

“You can see the yellow better.” Frank shrugs. “Plus it looks a little thicker, it looks like it’ll keep him warmer.”

“Play?”

“No, honey.” Dave says softly. “We can’t play right now.”

“Wanna play.” Ash crosses his arms. 

“Can’t play. Do you like this?” He tugs on the sleeve, holding it up so Ash can see. 

“Um.” Ash opens his eyes wide, then decided to lie down on the chair. Frank catches him, and picks him up. 

“We’ll get it.” Dave decides. “He needs one, and you can see the yellow better.”

“Okay, and the matching shoes?”

“Eh, why get a kid that doesn’t need to walk any shoes?” Dave shrugs, then looks back at the pile of baby clothes. “He likes socks better anyway. Likes to wiggle his little toesies. Maybe the little hat, though...”

He lifts the yellow hat, emblazoned with ducks, from the pile, and fits it on to his son’s little head. He’s adorable. There’s instant protest as Ash tries to wrestle it off, but he gives up and sighs in Frank’s arms, going completely floppy. Dave’s face completely softens up, and he squeals and kisses his little boy’s cheeks.

“Yeah, you’re getting that hat.” Dave smiles, still laughing. “You wanna try some shorts on?”

“No!” Ash shakes his head in protest. “Go.”

“Oh, I see.” Dave nods slowly. “Okay, okay. We’ll go.”

Frank dresses him up in his own clothes and wrestles him in to the stroller while Dave buys the new raincoat and hat. Frank takes especial care to tuck Ash in nicely, and give him his teddy bear and his bottle of tea to drink from. Frank carts him and his stroller out the store, by which time Ash has sucked away his dwindling reserves of tea. Noticing the absence, he cries out for his pacifier, and he sucks on it for a little bit before taking it out to babble to Frank about nothing in particular. He makes some vague gestures and chirping noises towards a seagull pecking at the sidewalk.

“There’s my little guy.” Dave smiles, looping the bag around the handle of the stroller. Ash looks up and extends his arms. Dave leans down as much as he can and smooches his head. “Hey, baby! Were you good?” He teases, then sits down on the bench, and rolls the stroller back and forth. He sighs and smiles, tapping at his face. “Was he good? I know I was a while, I had to wait fuckin’ eons for the elevator...”

“Oh, he was. He was fine!” Frank smiles. 

“You’re out of tea.” Dave says to Ash, running a thumb over his cheek. “How about we fix that, huh? You wanna go home? You wanna go for a nap?”

“Yeah...” Ash nods. Frank raises an eyebrow - he’s never seen a toddler that knew when they wanted to sleep. “Friends?”

“Let’s go home, let’s put you with your friends.” Dave smiles at him, and leans forwards to give him the tiniest kiss on the head before looking over to Frank. “Are you coming, or do you want to go home? I bet you’re sick of us.”

“Uh. Whatever you want.” Frank shrugs, trying to keep himself looking anything other than ditzy. “I can go, I can stay, whatever, and I’m not. I’m not sick of you, either. I like hanging out with you guys.”

Dave takes the bar in to his hands and starts to push the stroller, cane clicking on the ground as he walks. Frank notices what he’s doing and speeds along to catch up.

“You like hanging out with a boring dad and a two year old?”

“You’re not boring, and he isn’t two.” Frank reassures him.

“I’m not boring... then what?”

He blows up his voice, adds a layer of sarcasm, general jokiness. “Eh. You, my friend, are a lot of things. Flat-footed, dim-witted-“ Dave starts to laugh halfway through Frank’s exaggerated, clearly sarcastic insults. “-But boring, nah. You’re about clumsy enough to *always* be entertaining.” 

“ _Thanks_.” He giggles. “You’re a _dick_.”

“Little ears, Dave, wow!” Frank gasps loudly, and Dave starts to laugh again. “Let’s add ‘corrupting’ to the list of things that you are... I’m only teasing, of course.”

“I know you are.” Dave smiles. “You’re funny.”

The bus is packed. Dave and Frank manage to snatch a seat where they can put the stroller in front of them, but Ash is deeply upset by the chattering of the small space so Dave has to lift Ash on to his lap to cuddle him. He fusses for a while, then gives up on it as the bus gets a little quieter, and he plays with the small streamers on the top of his stroller.

 _He called me funny,_ Frank thinks to himself as he chews his lip. His heart is still racing, his palms are sweaty. It means a lot that Dave would think that of him, that Dave would go out his way to compliment him. He takes Ash’s teddy in to his hands and plays with him, tapping the bear’s hands together in front of his face. Ash is near instantly distracted by it, and sits gawking at the soft bear’s claps. Adorably transfixed. How easy would it be to do this all the time? How _nice_ would it be to do this all the time? He’d take to the role of a father well. He thinks. He wishes. Could he?

Dave nearly says it. It nearly spills out - _you’d be such a good dad_ \- but he realises it would be weird to say just as it’s about to escape his lips. It _is_ a strange thing to say, but it’s true. He can tell Frank clearly wants to be a dad, he’s taken to looking after Ash like a duck to water. He seems to _want_ to look after him, too, to want to spend time with him and fix him food and help him sleep. Dave can’t help but feel a little bad over it - Ash is _his_ baby, and _his_ responsibility but the people he loves seem to care for him like parents would nonetheless. Dave has always felt like a burden - ever since his brother died - which is about as far back as he cares to remember. 

It was less than ten years ago, but that doesn’t change a thing.

But now he doesn’t feel like a burden. The damage that his mother did to him is gone, he feels very much wanted by Hal and he was able to welcome Frank in to his life too. But then there is a vague emptiness in his chest where the feeling of being a burden would come from and he’s not sure how to fill the gap up. He can summarise it in a few words - _if not a burden, then what_? - because his mother and the ensuing abusers damaged him so badly that he’s not sure how to react to genuine affection or kindness anymore. It’s a problem he’s aware of but not necessarily proud of. He keeps telling himself he will tell his therapist, but he just hasn’t had the time to find a therapist.

If Frank knew about all this, he would tell Dave what he was. A friend. Not one who needed help, but a friend who wanted help. Despite the tiniest change in wording it made all the difference - to brains like theirs, there was compulsion to act in the first, generosity and kindness in the second. Not that Frank would consider himself generous, or kind. People who think they’re good people normally aren’t, including Frank who thinks he’s a bad person at the worst of times. Things like that apply to other people, not themselves - but it’s a pity that’s not what’s everyone thinks.

Back at Hal and Dave’s apartment, it’s snack time, and Dave gives a Frank thorough lesson on how to make good jalapeño poppers. Ash has a penchant for them when they are stuffed with not only cream cheese, but chopped bits of bacon and tomatoes. Ash also thinks jalapeños aren’t a vegetable, so he’ll eat them - Frank points out he’s right, they’re technically a fruit because they have seeds. Dave is blank for a while after that, before finally deciding that Frank is right. _Technically_. That doesn’t mean he likes the reality of it.

Frank turns out to be very good at cutting and de-seeding jalapeños, so much so he gets lost in the activity, and makes far more than they need. Dave simply nods with a smirk, finds more cream cheese and bacon bits, and gets to work. They had excess tomatoes anyway. Apparently exact quantities don’t matter in the realm of snacks like this - you just throw in whatever the hell tickles your fancy. You want more bacon bits? You add more bacon bits. You want more tomatoes? Add more tomatoes. With simple recipes, ratios don’t matter so much. Frank takes a little comfort in the fact you can’t fuck up jalapeño poppers (well, you can, in a good way), until Dave produces a large pot and goes wild pouring in oil.

“We’re deep frying these?” He bites at his lip. Hot oil scalded his brother when they were much younger - Frank tried to help him, and it left them both with nasty burns on their arms. A sense of panic overcomes him, and he pulls at his sleeves of his t-shirt as if to hide the scars.

“Yup. Don’t worry, you don’t have to do it. But this is how my brother used to make them for me... we learnt it off our pa, who was _violently_ southern and insisted his boys knew how to cook proper food.” Dave spills much more information than he‘s comfortable with, along with letting the accent he had in early childhood out, but it seems to make Frank a little less hesitant. He flashes a smile. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. First, we gotta make batter... I need cornstarch, flour, water, eggs and salt.” 

Frank obliges and brings him the ingredients as Dave washes off the cream cheese smeared measuring cups and grasps for a new bowl, as well as a plate. He makes a relatively simple batter, quite thin, but he says it brings out the salty flavours and adds a certain texture to the poppers that’s just divine. He also explains fries them twice, just for an extra crunch that him and Ash adore.

“Alright. The trick to this is that you have to be _concise_ \- you don’t necessarily have to do it as quickly as possible, ‘cause you certainly don’t wanna burn yourself, but you don’t want to dally about either. You wanna fry these babies for about three, four minutes.” He flicks on the heat with the help of a lighter. The aromatic peanut oil instantly fills up the air around them.

“Okay.” Frank nods. He feels he should be ready to try it again but he doesn’t, at the same time. “I, uh-“

“You don’t have to do it, I’m just showing you how.” Dave smiles. He’s picked up on the anxiety, as well as the scar Frank’s trying to hide. “I was really scared when I did this for the first time, I must have been about. Five or six, mom and dad really didn’t care what I was doing so long as I didn’t wake them up.” He’s not sure why he’s talking so much but Frank seems to appreciate it. “Coat the poppers in flour for me, will you? Helps the batter stick to the cheese, otherwise it gets all gloopy and nasty.”

“Of course.” Frank nods, glad to have something to occupy his hands with. One by one, he rolls the little poppers in the leftover flour. “So, you’ve been cooking for a long time?”

“Yeah, me and my brother just got real bored when we were kids, and we weren’t allowed out to the beach on our own until he was ten, ‘cause we had to cross two main roads to get there. But our parents didn’t mind us frying whatever the hell we could get our hands on in blisteringly hot oil.” He smiles, hands lost in battering the floured poppers. “Honestly it. Meant they didn’t have to make us breakfast or anything, and we could make food when they were gone because we just found it really fun, we felt all grown up.”

“I mean, when me and Martin were kids, we tried to fry something up, for our mom ‘cause it was her birthday, and we burnt ourselves bad.” Frank explains, and it feels like a weight off his chest. Dave *knows* now, and he nods in recognition.

“Bobby burnt himself too, a couple of times.” He chokes on his words, but he’s desperate to comfort Frank. “He had blisters all over his hands because he was a damned idiot and stuck his finger in the oil a few times, when our thermometer broke, to see if it was hot enough. I had to play doctor and get him an ice pack.” He sucks inward deeply, grabs a wooden spoon and shoves it spoke down in to the bath of oil. Where it hits the bright, sizzling liquid it bubbles - he starts to laugh a little. “I used to think he was so smart, but the guy didn’t know you could just do that.”

“Oh, it’s ready?”

“Yeah. If you go in the utensil drawer over there, there should be a weird. Sieve-dish-spoon thing, I forget what it’s called, but that’s what we’re gonna use. It’s like a deep-frying basket but good for little things like this.”

Frank fumbles around in the drawer and finds it, then Dave gets to work frying as Frank takes over the main coating and battering operations. While he’s waiting, Dave sets out a cosy bowl of sheets of kitchen roll. Frank’s instruction is to gently pat the poppers dry when they come out the first time, then flour and batter them again so Dave can fry them a second time. Frank carries this work out diligently, even though it’s not particularly skilled or difficult. Still, he feels immensely productive when they’re sitting in front of a huge bowl of double deep-fried jalapeño poppers. He made these with his crush, they’re fucking delicious, and there must be some four dozen of them there.

The moment Ash hears the bowl clink on the countertop he tumbles down from the couch and scoots as quickly as he can to his high chair, demanding through babbles to be picked up and given a bowl of poppers. He kicks his legs excitedly as he eats, but he only manages three whole poppers before the highchair turns in to a soggy mess of fried batter and jalapeño bits. 

Dave picks him up, and wipes his cheeks off with the sleeve of his sweater before bringing him to his crib for a nap. Dave lets him down on his back, but he rolls over on to his front, draws his leg up and rests his squishy, chubby cheek on his fist, while his daddy searches for his soft crocheted blankie and tucks him in up to his chin. He strokes his son’s cheek until he is well on his way to sleep, then rejoins Frank at the dining table. 

“Can I have another one?” Frank asks, tilting his head.

“Have as many as you want - hell, we’ll make more of the damn things!” Dave smiles. “You wanna deep-fry more shit? I forgot how fun it was.”

He’s biting something back, fun as it is. It’s stirring up old feelings, about Bobby, and he wants to retreat back in to his shell. He does, very very badly, but he’s determined to stay out. Frank knows about Bobby - he doesn’t know what Dave did. He will leave it like that because Frank never needs to know. Bobby can be. Absent, instead, he decides. Always, just... away. They don’t see each other! That’s all it is.

Then how were they so close? Why aren’t they close now? Frank will have questions. Maybe he will have the decency not to ask them, but they’ll still be there and it will taint something.

“Okay... what do you wanna fry? Maybe we can make corndogs for dinner?” Frank tilts his head. “I love corndogs... there’s this. Dip my mom used to make for them. She said it was a secret recipe but one time after school she told me it... I felt so powerful.”

“Corndogs... Hal likes those, Ash likes those, we could! I don’t know if we have the stuff for it through.” Dave thinks for a moment. “We could. Go down to the store, maybe? When Ash wakes up, we don’t have to make dinner until he’s awake. We’d need cornmeal.” He takes another popper and bites in to it. Fucking delicious. “I’m trying to think what we’d need...”

“Uh, batter and hotdogs.”

“Yeah, but you need it thick. I’m trying to think of what we could use to make it taste better. I don’t like the batter, it’s gross, and seeing as there’s so much batter you. Want it to taste good.” He wrinkles his nose trying to think, really struggling to string things he might need together. “I don’t like the. _Cakeyness_.”

“Add spice, maybe? Garlic and herbs and stuff. Might make it better. And I’ll make some of that dip. My mom used to make them with buttermilk and drippings and bacon bits, they were fuckin’ banging.”

“You know what, I think you’re on to something. We’ll do that. I think we have bacon bits left over from the poppers and we’ve got herbs... what are we gonna serve these with?” Dave bites his cheek for a moment, then calls out in eureka. “Tiny curly fries!”

“Yeah! Sure, I love curly fries.”

They hastily clean the kitchen up but leave the oil out, because oil is expensive and they may as well use it again - there’s nothing wrong with it save for a few stray streams of fried batter Dave fishes out. They wash off the frying equipment, clear away the paper towels. Eat a few more poppers while they’re at it.

“So, Frank...” Dave says absentmindedly, more invested in washing off the strange sieve-dish-spoon amalgamation (which Frank recognises as a skimmer) he mentioned earlier. “It’s Ash’s birthday in two months. What should we do?”

“We?”

“Oh, Frank, you’re pretty invested at this point.” Dave laughs while slipping the skimmer away, then looks back up with seriousness in his eyes. “Any ideas?”

“No. But he doesn’t like big things, so friends only. Do. People actually throw parties for two year olds?”

“Me and Hal threw him a party last year. He had a good time until the cake went away, and he fell asleep all cuddled up with me and covered in chocolate... it was so goddamn sweet.” 

“Oh, that is sweet.” Frank’s lips curl up in to a smile. “What do you wanna get him, for his birthday?”

“I was thinking. Maybe biting the bullet and getting a prosthetic made for him, he’s. Y’know, getting to the age where he wants to run and play and he can’t, it breaks my heart. Then I’d get him some toys because he wouldn’t really understand, maybe some Lego or. A kiddie bike. Motor skills, y’know? I’m trying to build on his motor skills.”

“Yeah, yeah. I saw something for him the other day, it was a light up frog with stars on its belly and they show up on the ceiling. It didn’t make any noises but it. Just seemed like the type of thing he’d like, I know how he is about his friends... Looked real soft, too.”

“Oh, I think he’d _l_ _ove_ that.” Dave softens up too, shoulders falling slack and eyes seemingly twinkling. “He’d love that so much, that would be so sweet of you.” 

“Well, next time I see it I’ll make sure to get it for the little guy.” Frank’s flattered by Dave’s response, and his chest seems to swell up and his hands clasp behind his back. “I... don’t think it makes noise. I poked it a bit. It doesn’t seem obnoxious, maybe it sings lullabies or something-“

“He loves lullabies too. I sing to him whenever he can’t sleep.”

“It’d save your voice, then!” Frank jokes, and Dave laughs in response. Frank wants to scrape him up in to his arms and snuggle him. “But it’s not one of those annoying ‘press-the-circle’ things, I’d never do that to you.”

“Yeah, I’ve tried him on things like that. He gets real bored with that sort of thing. I got him this. This box thing, and he had to tap the sides and it would make noises at him. Went back to his shiny octopus after about five minutes.” Dave shakes his head. “He’d rather have a big, cuddly frog who sang songs to him.”

“Never met a kid who actually wanted to sleep.” 

“Little guy’s just got his priorities in order. He likes being comfy - I told the doctor, and she just said it’s a growth spurt, or maybe he just enjoys being cuddled up. I don’t think he sleeps a lot of the time he’s in bed unless it’s _really_ naptime, I think he likes to suck on his pacifier for a bit.”

“Yeah, but he’s like a hurricane when he _is_ out his crib. I think if he could run on both feet, he’d have a whirlwind trailing behind him, destruction in it’s wake.”

“Oh, please, he’d rather do that with his hands.” Dave scoffs, partway to laughing. “Right after I clean, too.”  
  
Hal opens the door, alone for the first time in days. He sighs and falls back, slumping down against the cheeping door. “Dave, can I. Have some sweet tea, please?”

“Coming right up.” He looks over with a half-smile. “Ice and lemon?” 

“Yes, please.” His voice is a barely audible croak, becoming drier yet calmer with every syllable. He slips his glasses off and slides them down on to the collar of his shirt, then peels away his eyepatch. Like clockwork, the left moves outwards, almost as if it was dragged of its own accord towards the other side of the room.

Dave pulls out a tall glass, fills it with ice and a few shakes of lemon juice, then tops it up with tea. Hal doesn’t bother with adornments like slices, but he does enjoy straws, and Dave presents it to him - still on the floor - with one. 

“Did everyone leave okay?” Dave asks softly, careful not to overwhelm him with tones and intonations. 

“Yeah. They’re all on their flight back now.” Hal nods, and sips at his juice like a cat might lick at a bowl of water. “I’m exhausted.”

“We made jalapeño poppers if you’re interested.” Frank smiles. “They’re really good.”

“Oh, and it’s corndogs for dinner. We’re deep frying.” Dave explains. “We’re gonna trek down to the store for ingredients when Ash wakes up.”

“I want to come.” Hal says softly, though Dave fully expects him to change his mind. “I’m going to. Go lie in bed for a bit, though.”

“Yeah, sure. You want me to bring you some poppers?” 

“And the beanbag, please.” He says, then drags his slumping form to his bedroom without another word.

Frank brings the beanbag along with the poppers in, then leaves the beanbag by the door and the poppers on the bedside table where he has put his glass of tea. Hal - face down on the bed and still in his jacket - barely notices, too focused on shaking off his social exhaustion that he doesn’t register the clink. Frank leaves without a word because he doesn’t want to disturb him with social cues. 

In the kitchen, Dave is playing music quietly, and the baby monitor is clearly picking up something from his room. Ash is playing, and moving around in his bed, babbling whispers to himself. They are nonsense words with fantastical twists, his own little language. When Frank really listens, he can pick up human syllables, parts of words Ash has heard, ones he’s said recently. The tone and pattern never differs; he repeats some five made up words over and over again. He clearly has no understanding of the fragments he is repeating but he seems to enjoy them.

“What’s he saying?” Dave’s swerved over, and is now sat on the couch, watching Frank listen.

“I can’t tell.” Is his response, still lost in thought. “He’s just... going at it.”

“He does this a lot. Kel told me I should get him checked out the last time they fuckin’ found their way in to my line of sight.” Dave rolls his eyes.

“They’re still giving you trouble?” Frank lifts an eyebrow. “You have a. Restraining order.”

“Unless they try and hurt me again, I’m not a snitch enough to call the cops.” He shrugs. “I guess. I guess that Ash is their son, they want to see him... but there’s the difference, he’s their son and _my_ baby.”

“I guess.” Frank nods. “I. I’m a lawyer and I can sort these things out if they. Unsettle him.”

“He barely notices. Just another person that isn’t someone he cares about. I’m hoping they’ll get my message but they’re stubborn enough to never get it. Of course I don’t want them near him, not after what they did. But there’s no custody agreement between us, they don’t have visitation rights and... I’m a bitch enough to want it to stay that way.”

“Of course you do.” Frank understands, and Dave’s face seems to lose its form in astonishment. “Think about it, they. Shot a blank outside your house and threatened to fuckin’ stab you. I’d understand it if you never wanted them to even _think_ of Ash again. That doesn’t make you a bitch.”

“Their lawyer definitely doesn’t agree. Apparently I’m borderline evil because I want to keep my kid safe. Should be tested for all sorts of illnesses - god, you wouldn’t believe what they tried to convince me I had.” He shakes his head. “And they tried to use my hip, as well. Told me I wasn’t fit to look after him because I’m ‘immobile’ - I’m not!”

“I know you aren’t.” Frank sits down next to him, and invites him in to his arms. Soft is the cheek that rests against his shoulder and softer still is the voice that he uses to comfort Dave. He needs to know this isn’t his fault, that he’s completely reasonable. That he’s still a good person, a good father, that he really does have what’s best for his son in mind. These words are not much but they’re the best he can do and he is proud of them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes im projecting and im sorry but this is integral to how I see his character and also later development. we’re kicking off a phase of sorts here? its a very intricate view of Dave’s character and I swear to god this isn’t just. Dave Torture Porn it is all going to come back later.  
> i can’t stress enough like. this deals with immensely intricate feelings that are specific to trauma and I would advise that if you have experience with sexual abuse, struggle with suicidal thoughts or are triggered by death them don’t read this and just skip to the bottom where ive put a summary instead because I sincerely do not want to trigger anyone with this. thanks.

**[LINK TO THE PLAYLIST](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss) **

**{CW - heavy discussion of the effects of trauma involving death, later implies sexual abuse and attempted suicide and is in general very heavy. will give summary of chapter in my notes at the bottom so you know what happens if you can’t read this.}**

Dave has many things to do all the time, but sometimes he just can’t do them. He’s always been good at following his daily goals, he has nearly always been able to set out what he needs to do for the day and then complete them to the best of his ability. But right now he’s laid in bed and alone, completely unmoving, one hand in front of him and one hand trapped under his side. He could get up if he wanted to but at this very moment he doesn’t have the mental power to do so. He simply hasn’t got the energy to do so. Ash is with Hal in the living room, and Hal knows what to do, so he doesn’t have to worry about leaving Ash alone, or being disturbed by him.

He is a single dad at twenty three. Sometimes he needs time to be as young as he is, to forget the stresses of raising and caring for a two year old boy. Days like this make him feel especially bad because he shouldn’t be without Ash. Ash should have his papa there to comfort him and care for him. 

But he can’t think and therefore, being with Hal is. Better. Hal can look after him. They’ll watch TV, and play games and Hal will hug him if he gets sad. Ash will barely miss him (which is both a comforting and harrowing thought) and if he does he’ll come in for a cuddle and he’ll be quiet. Dave will use him more like a doll than anything else, which also makes his heart fall deep in to his chest. Sometimes, however, he just needs the comfort - who’d hold that against him?

His body is laid in his blue bedroom, surrounded by his comforter and thick duvet, but his mind is that of a fifteen year old boy joyriding in the back of his brother’s pickup truck. The front is full of Bobby’s friends and Dave is hidden in the back, acting like he’s not there in case the cops come around and take away Bobby’s license. But when they’re out the limits of the small town, Dave is allowed to sit up, crawl towards the cabin and join in. The music - Fleetwood Mac, Dave’s choice - is blasting through where the window should be and he’s laughing at their jokes. Sometimes he tells one to fit in. The sky is blue and adrift with wisps of clouds, and they roll past humid desert filled with sprawling leaves, hills and mounds that are brown and beautiful. 

There’s Bobby driving, and Betty in the passenger seat next to him. Then there’s Anthony, Deepali, and Red in the three seats at the back, and Dave’s sitting in the trailer with the boxes and tents and suitcases. He’s wearing his binder under his white vest, a pair of Bobby’s old denim jeans with the legs cut off, and a belt tied around his hips in a way that makes his waist seem bigger and thicker. He’s just had another haircut and he’s especially proud of the fake sideburns he made Bobby cut in. He’s slicked them down with hairspray and he couldn’t stop looking at himself in the mirror this morning because god fucking *damn* it, he looked like a boy! He looked like a boy and he was happy with his face and he felt this sheer euphoria in his chest whenever he remembered what he looked like.

It is July, 1992. David Bowman is a 15 year old boy and he’s on his way to a campsite with his brother, his brother’s friends, and his brother’s girlfriend. They’re going to grill hotdogs and tell each other scary stories - but Dave will be okay because he’s a big boy and he promised not to wet the bed, or the tent. He’s mostly been sent because their mom and dad need a break. He should relish it, really, because it’s the last time they’re going to be able to do it. 

Three weeks later, Bobby dies.

It’s an accident. It’s not Dave’s fault and everyone knows it, but his mother sure acts like it is. The food at the wake turns to mush in his mouth, and he refuses to eat it. His father is of some comfort to him. He is able to cosset his son and coax him out of his room, but a month later he’s dead too. Launch gone wrong. 

It’s funny, because it’s the first thing Dave watches with genuine wonder since the death of his brother. His dad has taken a teddy bear - that Dave chose - up to space, part of a long-standing tradition of bringing a little piece of home up. He’s getting special treatment because he’s the son of an astronaut and he really needs the attention, so he’s sitting in buzzing mission control with a cup of coffee and watching with a smile on his face, mentally taking himself through the stages of launch and liftoff. Space has always captivated him in completeness, and there’s nearly _nothing_ to be worried about; they do this so often now that issues during takeoff are about as common as a winning the lottery during a plane crash. How wonderful is it, that lifting bodies to space, is commonplace and routine? He is smiling widely, Bobby finally at the back of his mind, as his father is about to enter the atmosphere - then the ship tears itself in to pieces. It is not a nice death. The screams he hears over the intercom haunt his dreams for the next three years.

His mother closes up. Like a child on a Saturday morning he is completely and utterly alone, but he is mourning _deeply_. Lost in grief, missing school, laying in Bobby’s bed and crying in to his pillow because all he wants is comfort nobody will give to him. He shuts himself down and he automates himself.

Then, two years later, there’s the issue of Betty, the woman Bobby loved. She’s twenty now, and she’s very pretty. She’s got this 50’s flair about her, with big curly chestnuts for hair, and beautiful brown eyes and freckled skin. He goes to her for comfort, she comes to him for sex. It’s the same thing, or at least it melds in to the same thing every time they meet. The softness of her skin gives him the warmth he needs in his frozen chest, whereas she wants his body because she misses Bobby. He ends up shutting everyone he loves out - even Hal, his very best friend. The older he gets, the more he realises that she only wanted him for the way he looked like her dead lover. Slowly, she breaks him, bends him to her will and he can’t notice it because he is too caught up in what he thinks is the comfort he needs. He thinks he is less. He’s worthless to her, save for the sex he gives and like hell he gives it to her because he doesn’t know what he’s really giving to her. He thinks it’s comfort, he thinks he’s healing, unrepressing himself, being in control of his body, being a grown up. He thinks this might really be the end of the pain and grief ends up feeling worse and worse, the void in his chest nearly causing his body to crumble in to pieces.

He ends up in the hospital when she decides she’s had enough of him, that she wants someone else instead. 

He escapes her when she is done with him, and it takes a long time of feeling worthless again to get back on his feet, but he’s still damaged. He craves warmth and comfort in the form of sex, and that’s how he ends up with Kel. Sooner or later, sweet little Ash is there, his twinkling eyes and tiny chirps the only true peace Dave has known since the death of Bobby. Ash is the comfort he has craved since the day Bobby died, and slowly he feels himself restarting, booting back up in to the person he was. Caring not only about his baby son, but himself too. Taking frequent showers, remembering to take all his medications, listening to his doctor. Admitting to himself that he needs his cane, using it whenever he needs it _even if_ that is every day. Holding his tiny baby fills that void that has torn him to pieces, starts to slowly pull him back together. It isn’t instant. It takes a while, and it takes days like today, but slowly with the help of Ash, and Hal, and now Frank, he is coming back together.

Ash straightened him up, for sure. He remembers what it was like to hold his newborn son for the first time, a baby he had vowed earnestly to protect and love. The weight was so warm on his chest, and barely crying, simply looking up with his big eyes, his beautiful eyelashes. Dave held him so calmly, and for hours, too - Kel wasn’t interested in their own son. He kept asking if they wanted to hold them, but instead they’d fallen asleep. It was fine, Dave was infatuated with his little boy. He was completely and utterly in love with the tiny thing, _his_ baby, even if they weren’t related by blood. He couldn’t care less about that; as far as he was concerned, Ash was his son, and he was Ash’s dad.

He took the night shifts and played with him and bathed him in the sink, took pictures of him and cuddled him when he was upset. Still he felt unrest again, his son shouldn’t have fixed him. A baby shouldn’t have fixed him in the slightest and yet it did. His mind then told him he was still only playing dad, that soon he would give up; so far he hasn’t had the chance to. He just loves Ash too much.

When he comes back to his senses he is in messy tears, face buried in to his bedding. He takes time to reflect whenever he has to stay in bed, and when it involves Bobby or Betty it always dissolves in to tears. Ash has crawled in to bed with him, and is hugging him. Dave’s not sure if Ash wants a hug of his own merit or has noticed his dad is in pain but he’ll take it. He really will, and as he sits up and pulls Ash in to his arms he kisses the soft, chubby cheek he loves so much. The ring of his baby’s giggle lights up his chest.

“Papa?” He cheeps as Dave lays back down him him, pulling him as close as he possibly can be.

“Yeah?” Dave responds, trying to be as soft and unassuming as he possibly can through his tears, which still bog his throat down. 

Ash lifts his tiny thumb up, and wipes the tears away with a little smile. Dave’s ready to start sobbing again; that smile is the exact same as his own when he wipes his baby’s tears away. He is mimicking and learning and it makes Dave’s heart throb with joy.

“Oh, sweetheart!” The joy spreads in to his words, and he pulls Ash close. “Oh, baby, I love you.”

When people are sad, we make them feel better. We make their tears go away and give them a hug - that is what his son has learnt, and he is all too proud of the tiny thing. They lay there in a cuddle for a few minutes before Ash decides he is very bored, and decides to poke his dad.

“What is it, Ash?” He says tiredly. Crying takes it out of him, it feels like a performance even though he can’t control it. 

“Tea?”

“You want tea?” Dave confirms, even though he knows exactly what Ash wants. He nods, and Dave sits up and fumbles for his cane, because he remembers he forgot to take his medication. He will sort that out in a few moments. Ash bounces up and crawls over to the end of the bed, then drops down and starts to shuffle out the room. He’s thankful he left the door open because he’s not tall enough when sitting to grasp at the handle himself and he hasn’t got the balance to stand up. “Just a moment, baby.”

Ash babbles as his dad disappears behind the teal cherry-blossom divider to get dressed. He waits at the door patiently as Dave throws off his long bed t-shirt and opts for one of his angora sweaters, then a pair of sweatpants to match. He emerges and Ash begs to be picked up, so he obliges. It’s only a short distance from the bedroom to the kitchen and Dave has his support in the form of his cane where he can lean his and Ash’s weight on to.

“Morning, Hal.” Dave smiles. 

“Feeling better?” Hal looks up from his book and pushes his glasses back up his nose. 

“Yeah, much better... who opened the door for him?” Dave slips in to the kitchenette, and Hal slips his head down back to his book, but Dave can tell he’s still listening. 

“I don’t know. He might have knocked it, maybe you didn’t close the door right when you let him out.”

Dave prepares a bottle, and Ash begs to be let down with it. He scuttles in to the living room and hoists himself up on to the couch. Dave then notices Hal has slipped behind him.

“Do you want tea?” Dave asks, taken aback only slightly and rapidly calming.

“No thank you.” Hal leans his against the counter, then fiddles with a finger for a few moments. He pulls down the hood of the oven so it separates them from Ash and the TV. Even though he doesn’t understand, Hal doesn’t want to upset him with what he knows is going to be an emotional conversation. “Dave, are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine now.” Dave nods. “I. Was thinking about shit. You know exactly what. I had a nightmare, it dredged up some feelings.”

“Dave...” He says softly. “Why won’t you go to therapy?”

“Because there’s nothing that wrong with me, Hal.” Dave admits it to himself. He doesn’t need the help - he’s dealt with it enough, he knows what he’s doing. He will heal.

“But there is _something_ wrong.” Hal’s counterpoint does make sense, and Dave bites his cheek sheepishly. “Dave, you’re not... the way you feel isn’t normal. You need someone, something to help.”

“I. Hal. Please, I’m fine, I really am. I know it doesn’t seem that way but I’d rather I have you and Frank and Ash than any. Doctor who just wants to poke and prod my brain and put me on pills. And I can’t afford any more pills, not with how many I have to buy.”

“I’ll pay.”

“No, you won’t.” Dave snaps. “I don’t. I don’t _want_ help. I can do this myself, I have been for the past eight years, and I’d much rather do it myself because I _know_ what the problems are, and I’ll find ways to deal with them.”

“Dave, it’s been eight years and you still sit in bed crying. You need help. Please? Just, try it. I hate seeing you like this.”

He shakes his head and holds his arms. Tears threaten to spill again as he thinks about opening himself up, exposing everything that he has done and that has been done to him to the world. “It’s too much. I wouldn’t be able to talk to someone I didn’t know. Hell, I’ve never even. Talked to you about it, the only reason you know is because you were there.”

Hal thinks for a moment. He doesn’t know what to say to that, because he knows it true, but he knows Dave needs it more than anyone he knows. If not for his brother and Betty, then what Kel did. Or maybe to unload the stress of being a disabled single father at the age of twenty one - the moment he was able to drink and party he had a baby to care for. To reassure him that he deserves everything he has because Hal knows he doesn’t think he does. To reassure him that he’s actually doing well, that he’s a good dad. To tell him that he’s allowed to rely on his support network every now and then. He has always thought Dave deserved better. That he dealt with a shitshow of constant trauma, that he didn’t deserve to hurt like he did. Of course, he doesn’t say it, because he knows Dave knows what he’s thinking.

“I’m sorry, Dave.” Hal pulls him close, and Dave falls slack in his arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to help you anymore, and if you need help, then you have to get it yourself.”

“I know.” Dave says through tears, and pulls away. He drags at his undereyes with his sleeve and occupies himself with making himself a glass of sweet tea. “I know I have to.”

“You can’t have days like this. This can’t happen forever, Ash needs you. He’s becoming a lot more aware of you now, he wants you to be there with him. I don’t know if it’s separation anxiety, or if he just loves you and gets worried, but...” Hal explains, then looks down at his hands. “He was upset this morning because you let him out and closed the door and he knew exactly what it meant. And of course he likes me, but he’s picking a favourite comforter now and we have to accommodate it.” 

“Oh, Hal...” He’s silent for a moment, and he sips at his tea to regain his strength. “No, I get it. I really do. I’m sorry I let it get this bad.”

“It’s not bad yet.” Hal gives himself a moment to think. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna, do some research, look around. I don’t know. But I’ll find someone.” Dave takes another moment, leaning against the counter. He veers over the glass screen to his son, who is drinking from his bottle and watching TV with his teddy bears. “I could write a letter. About everything, and then I wouldn’t have to. Tell, verbally.”

“That’s a good idea.” Hal smiles, glad he’s talked a little sense in to his friend. “Okay. And I will take Ash, or Frank will take him, so you know he’ll be good and safe.”

••

With Ash tucked cautiously in to bed and given the softest of goodnight kisses, Dave sits at the kitchen table with a blank sheet of paper and a pile of stationary. It’s dark in the kitchen-diner-living room, his main source of light soft yellow lamps placed strategically around the room. There’s one over by the couch, and one behind him, which casts an eerie tone over the page in front of him. His pile consists of a pen, a pencil, an eraser, a ruler, a highlighter, some whiteout. He slips headphones in to his ears, which he hopes will numb the pain. Hal is sitting on the couch, listening to his own music while talking to Frank quietly. Dave bites his lip, and he takes the plunge.

 _My name is Dave Bowman_ , he begins, _and I find it difficult to talk about my past, so I’ve chosen instead to write it all down, and present it to you as a letter..._

His hand begins to trail the memories down on to the page one by one. He is careful not to smudge the blue ink but it’s obvious he hasn’t put pen to paper in a while - he’s lost a lot of his pen control. He feels a little like a schoolboy writing a recount of a school trip, and he’s able to separate himself well. He doesn’t try and set the scene, he tries instead to lay his trauma out plain and simple because he doesn’t want to relive it too much. He sticks to the basics instead; _when I was fifteen, my older brother died...;_ he’s a bit too tender to go in to detail right now, but he also knows that if this is not done _n_ _ow_ then it won’t be done.

He feels pretentious and cringeworthy as he writes, especially because he is presenting to a currently nonexistent therapist. He feels a little like he’s one of those anatomical models that can be taken apart piece by piece to be examined and looked at; then he distracts himself from that thought with the notion that this isn’t all he is. But if he isn’t his trauma, then what really _is_ he? He can’t remember who he was before Bobby died, or how to be that person, almost as if little Dave died with him. He has vague memories of being a boy, of course, and ones of not being that. Young Dave feels like a different person, and he can’t imagine being him, either. Dave is empathic by nature and he can put himself in anyone’s shoes - except his own, and that makes his chest feel empty and heavy. So he writes that little feeling down too.

Then he has to write about Betty. Fewer people know about what Betty did to him than they know about Bobby’s death. Hal doesn’t even know the intricacies; it is a burden Dave carries and one he thinks Betty has forgotten. He writes that one out in detail because it haunts him. About what she did, the things she made him do; and he never likes to use those kinds of words, but he knew no better and it was her influence. In most senses of the words she _did_ make him do those things. He was immature sexually and mentally, shut off after the death of Bobby and his father. He didn’t know what he was doing and it scarred him deeply. He understands he is a survivor, and he is doing a lot better now, but at times it’s difficult to feel that way. 

If he’s better, _why_ is he writing this letter? Isn’t it a waste of time to seek solutions to problems already solved?

He shuts himself up because he knows this needs to be done, and keeps writing. He writes about how Betty finished with him, and why he ended up in the hospital. The scars seem to burn and tingle with shame as he writes that down, admits it to someone other than Hal, his mom, and his admitting nurse for the first time ever. He knows he’s improved because he nearly cries at thought he might not be here today. That Ash would not have his papa, that he would not be loved as he is now. He takes a deep breath in, trying not to cry, and talks about it a little more. About how he’s guilty and he’s scared he’ll never forgive himself even though he understands it given the pain he was in.

Then he talks about Kel. They aren’t difficult to talk about but Dave has this terrible habit of forgetting things he means to tell people and he knows they’ve had some kind of impact on him but he can’t for the love of god tell what that might be.

When he takes himself out of the equation he feels terrible for the narrator of the story he reads. When he puts himself in to it, it’s just. Normal. Something he needs to suck up and deal with. That, he feels, is a problem.

When he’s done, he leaves the sheets on the table and he sighs out deeply in relief because he doesn’t have to think about it anymore. Of course, the feelings linger and he is more tender than chicken but he can still walk away from it, massage his temples in the kitchen and get himself some lemonade to ground himself with. Frank nearly rushes over to him, just to check he’s alright. Dave ends up falling in to his arms, unexpectedly cuddling him tightly. Frank gasps at first but keeps him upright and holds him. Holds him close, and strokes his hair, wrapping his fingers in the soft chestnut curls. He doesn’t cry, he’s far too numb from overthinking his traumatic memories all day, but he’s too weak to stand up alone, and far too upset to be left alone. Frank can tell, from the urgency in his touch, that Dave feels safe there. He doesn’t move, just stays upright and cuddles him because he knows Dave needs it. 

“Dave...” He says breathily, and _softly_ , in to Dave’s hair. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s okay. I’m here.”

He doesn’t really want to know what Dave was writing, but it seems to have hurt him badly, and Frank would rather comfort him mindlessly than ask questions that might upset him more. Be gentle, and loving, and kind, because he knows it’s what his friend needs.

“Have you eaten? Do you need a drink? I didn’t see you eat.” Frank fusses over him quietly. “Ice cream, do you want ice cream? Or. Or maybe you’d like a sandwich. I make really good sandwiches.”

Dave nods in to his chest, and sniffles at it. He sits down at the bar, and Frank fixes him a sandwich illuminated by the light of the refrigerator. They sit together in the near dark as Dave weakly eats it, crumbs tumbling on to the table. Frank sits closely, pets his back so he knows he’s not alone. Dave looks very deeply upset. Frank wonders for a moment if it’s something to do with Ash but he knows Dave would never let that happen.

“Is that good?” He asks, voice a soothing whisper, being careful not to startle him. Attempting to be as comforting as he can because Dave needs the comfort badly. Dave nods in response, the pieces of bread and the chunky filling between resting in his hands. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The tips of Dave’s lips almost curl in to a smile but then the listless expression that has characterised him all day makes yet another appearance. “Thank you. This is really good.”

This is one of those times where wanting to be there for someone outweighs the want for Dave to fall in love with him. Wanting to comfort him is more important than impressing him or wooing him. 

“Come here, let me hold you.” Frank says, and Dave finds himself putting his sandwich down and falling in to Frank’s arms. There is something so calming about the cloud of cologne that hangs around him, about his soft black hair and the way he pets Dave’s back, rubs up and down with one hand, stops to pet him in a rhythm. “Hey... it’s okay. It’s all okay.” He never asks what’s wrong because he knows it’ll make Dave feel worse, and he also has the nagging suspicion he isn’t going to be able to fix whatever the problem is.

“Thank you...” Dave says. “I’m. Going to go to bed, I really need. To be warm, and to be near Ash, too.”

“Of course.” Frank smiles.

Dave slumps his way to his room, gets dressed behind the divider, and then sighs at his lack of willpower when he finds himself lifting his toddler up and bringing him to bed. Tucking him in on a pillow, cuddling up with him, kissing his pretty curls and singing something to him softly. 

“Night, baby.” Dave whispers when he knows he has to sleep, that he’s disturbing Ash. It takes him a very long while.

Meanwhile, as the night passes on, Frank and Hal talk quietly on the couch, careful not to disturb Dave’s sleep in the room just over. Music plays quietly, and they drift over nothing in particular. Still something weighs down on Frank’s shoulders.

“Is Dave okay?” He asks suddenly, and Hal looks up from his book, putting it on his lap.

“He’s been better.”

“I noticed that.” Frank draws his legs up to his chest. “I’m worried. He just wasn’t himself today.”

“Dave has bad days sometimes. He hasn’t. He hasn’t had the nicest life.” Hal grinds at his lip with his teeth, and finally slips his book away. “He had a nightmare last night so he’s, just not himself.”

“Oh.” Frank is taken aback - but it’s the kind of answer he unfortunately expected. “Sorry. You must not want to talk about it, I know you were there for a lot of it.”

“You don’t wanna know.” Hal wrinkles his nose. “This. Doesn’t happen often, once every couple of months he’ll just. Have a day like this, where he only really cares for Ash and just. Pretends the world doesn’t exist. I forgot how jarring they were until today. He just shuts down.”

“Is that what he was writing about?”

“He’s. Gonna try and find a therapist because days like this really upset Ash, but he can’t talk about what happened to him, so he wrote it all down instead.” Hal looks over to the window, overlooking the city. “I miss Florida but he just couldn’t be there anymore. Not after what happened. And like hell was I leaving him alone.”

“I miss Arizona, too.” Frank admits. “I came to Urbana because of a girlfriend and. When we were done I just never moved back.”

“Dave had family here too. That’s why we came, and I was able to get a job at our office because they thought I was some kind of savant whereas Dave. Lost his when his hip started limiting his mobility. I like it here, though. I like my job and I like living with Dave, even though he’s like this sometimes.”

“Yeah, I guess it must be really nice to live with your best friend.” 

“It’s the best.” Hal gives a genuine smile. “I didn’t realise how much I had missed being close to him until I was waking up and seeing him every day.”

They finish their conversation at some point in the early morning, and Frank poises himself to leave. Hal goes to the bathroom as he slips his shoes on, and he turns to see Dave’s painstakingly written letter. He doesn’t see much, he cannot read the intricacies, but he sees enough for his heart to sink in to his stomach. It makes him feel sick, it makes his heart thump, it makes his head spin. Dave and the words on the page should not mix together and yet they do; he is filled with horrified disgust and anger. Like a punch to the stomach. _Jesus Christ - Jesus Fucking Christ!_

His hands ball in to fists. Nobody is ever going to hurt Dave Bowman again.

**{chapter summary - Dave rethinks his various traumas after a nightmare. Hal convinces him to get therapy. Knowing he is unable to speak about it, he writes a letter that Frank sees, and therefore he vows to protect Dave.}**


	9. Chapter 9

**[LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss) **

**{CW for food mention.}**

The next time he sees Dave, a few days later, he’s still overthinking the contents of the letter. It explains more than it should. That barrier that is always between Dave and the world that’s hard to penetrate. The slight childishness of the way he dresses. His obsession with Ash, the way he holds and cuddles him - he doesn’t even care they share a room, which according to the rest of his friends with kids is odd. The sadness in his eyes.

They’re on the bus together, on their way in to the city for weekly drinks, and Ash is in his stroller, and Dave is wearing a huge angora sweater that seems to dwarf him despite his chubby form. He looks _warm_ , and soft, and wonderfully cuddly. 

“So, I never asked... how are you doing after the other day?” Frank looks over, waving to Ash who is sucking at his pacifier and nearly falling asleep. “I’ve been kinda worried about you since then.”

“Oh, that? That was nothing. I just had a bad day.” Dave shrugs. 

“Hal said it was. More than that.” Frank decides to probe deeper than he feels he should, out of worry on his own behalf. Dave’s face seems to pale, and he looks away, saying something sharply under his breath.

“How much did he tell you?”

“Not much, but. Enough to concern me.” Frank bites his cheek. “I know you probably don’t wanna talk about it but... I wanted you to know I’ll be there for you. If you ever need me. Literally, you could never bother me. You could phone me up at 3am just to unload the worst shit in the world on me, and I’d still answer you, and I would still listen.”

Dave doesn’t respond for a long while. He rocks Ash up and down, chewing on his lip. Frank starts to feel guilty; maybe he’s brought something painful up. He tries to think of something to mask the obvious ball he’s dropped but he can’t think, like a block in his mind has taken deep root where his logic should be. Then when he’s about to start stuttering some kind of joke out, Dave looks towards him and smiles.

“What would I do without you guys, huh?” His cheeks light up. “God... that I have someone that would do that for me.”

“I mean, you’re probably not gonna take me up on that offer, right?” Frank laughs, and Dave nods and joins in. 

“Like hell I’d sacrifice sleep so you could hear my sob story!” 

“But at the same time, I’d do it. I dare you, call me at the crack of dawn and tell me to go get some popcorn and I’ll listen to you, I’ll even provide the sad music.” 

“I’d do the same for you, y’know. Just, call me, and I’m there.” 

Drinks are good. It’s just coffee for Dave, and orange juice for Frank, and lukewarm tea for Ash who sits very patiently in his own chair and tries to dribble as little tea down his chin as humanly possible. When he’s had enough, Dave puts him back in his stroller so he can cuddle up with the friends he brought, while Dave and Frank keep talking. Birthday party preparations, relaying ideas from Hal; Ash doesn’t understand them in the slightest because they’re excellent at using code words. He’s far too tired to pick out words, either, let alone decipher their meaning. 

Ash doesn’t think an awful lot, he’s a little incapable of making connections between things, but he does enjoy what he does experience. Cuddles, and kisses, and friends, and warm blankets, and pacifiers. He reaches for his own pacifier when he remembers it’s there because he would like it. It’s in a ball attached to the side of his stroller, near where Dave keeps the rain cover. He finds he’s strapped in to the stroller too tightly to get to it himself, so he makes a cry for assistance instead.

“What is it you want, baby?” Is met with incoherent babbles and pointing, before Dave realises what his son wants. His pacifier is actually on the table, and he hands it over. Ash sucks on it and lays against the cushioned wall of the stroller, curling himself up in to a ball and pulling his blanket up to his shoulders. It keeps slipping, and while still talking, Dave tucks him in properly. 

When Ash sees his dad’s sweater, he wants less to be in the stroller than to be cuddled and kissed by his dad. Despite his chirps and cheeps for attention, he’s largely ignored save for a few strokes on the head and cheek while he falls asleep cuddled in to his friend’s side. Afternoon nap.

He wakes up with the rain cover on, still cuddled up with the blanket and the friend. Rain slams down on the cover, and from where he is the whole world is more than gargantuan. He has always been soothed by the sound of rain, but this is more than comforting, so he sits back and watches, wriggles his toes and his stump under the leg cover, which is waterproof and good enough to be a blanket. He wants to take his sweatpants off because he would rather wriggle freely but the straps are in the way so he can’t. 

“Someone’s awake.” He hears from outside. His dad’s voice, so he’s calmed by it. “Here I was, hoping he’d sleep until we got home...” 

“Must’ve been the crossing that woke him up. It was really bumpy, it would disturb anyone.” Frank’s voice. Deeper, but still soothing.

“Yeah, you’re right...” Dave’s voice trails away in to something Ash can’t quite understand. He’s really talking about how many people they should invite to Ash’s party, and more importantly _who_.

Obviously, Dave, Frank, and Hal will all be attending. Hal’s seeing if his mom can come up for the day because Ash really likes her - she’s good with him. They can’t really think of anyone else and they don’t want to overwhelm him. Ash doesn’t do well with other kids, he tends to bite people he doesn’t like, and he’s a little force to be reckoned with at times. Maybe his four favourite people are enough...

Back at the apartment, Dave fixes Frank and Ash a little snack of cucumber sticks and homemade mayo, which Frank enjoys more than he feels he should. Dave is busy, lost in thought.

“I think we should throw it here.” Frank suggests. “Really, I do. It’s cheap, all we have to buy is decorations - and we’ll have at most five people there.”

“Yeah, but we’re _always_ here - it’s not special.”

“First of all, he’s two. He doesn’t care. Also, he feels really safe here, so if he gets overwhelmed he can just go to the bedroom.” 

“Maybe you’re right. I guess this is his party, not mine...” Dave drifts for a moment, then steals a cucumber stick and dunks it in mayo. “Shit, this is good.”

“It _is_ good!” Frank affirms with a heavy nod. “How do you even do this?”

“Uh... I don’t know, actually.” Dave lets out a laugh. “I just shove the ingredients in a jar and whip it with my handheld blender. Way easier than using a normal blender ‘cause you can scrape all the extra mayo off.”

“Do you make your own butter, too?” Frank asks, only half-joking. “I can see you making your own butter.”

“Oh - wow, who do you take me for?” Dave giggles properly. Ash babbles something, and Frank nods at him in understanding. “No, I don’t make my own butter. But I will if you keep teasing me about it.”

“I actually kinda like the fact you make things. I think it’s cute.” Frank admits shyly, and Dave gasps scandalously in response, then his face softens.

“Yeah, I am cute.” Dave smiles. “You want carrots too?”

“Hell yeah!”

Dave can’t hide the smile on his face, and it grows upwards as he peels and chops three carrots in to sticks. Frank hates vegetables, but he’s sat here crunching on them mindlessly like a kid while laughing with Ash. He has the feeling it’s not the mayo that makes him tolerate vegetables, but it’s something else. He’s not sure what, but the whole thing fills him with this warmth he can never shake off. Frank radiates this energy that, of late, he goes crazy for. It attracts him like a moth to a light, like a fly to old fruit. While he’s up he adds a few bitty sticks of celery in to the mix. 

“What do you take me for, Dave, a _bunny?_ ” Frank scoffs, but there’s humour in his eyes, and a smile painted on his lips that’s starting to hurt his cheeks but no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t tuck them away. He eats the celery all the same, and Dave knows he does because Ash wouldn’t touch the stuff with a thirty foot pole.

Hal comes home from digging through crate upon crate of comic books and records, then takes some sticks for himself and disappears in to his room. Ash is satiated with some tea and the TV while Dave and Frank practically shoot themselves over to Hal’s room to check out his haul of records and comics. 

Hal has managed to track down, with relative difficulty, the old space documentaries him and Dave used to watch. They’re _old_ , and their sleeves are mangled at the edges, some held together with parcel tape and sheer will. They most definitely need to be rewound and cleaned, but Hal has the materials to do so. Hal sits there, furiously cleaning and polishing the tapes. He would trust Dave to do it, but Dave’s busy snuggling Ash, and making dinner, and Frank makes it obvious he has no clue what to do. He always made his dad do that kind of thing for him.

Dave is making sloppy joes with coleslaw, balancing babbling Ash on his hip. Frank is gathering him the ingredients. Bringing over cabbage and sauce and Dave’s revered homemade mayo. 

They sit and eat together, and Ash tumbles around for a while as they all talk before Dave tucks him in to bed. The night passes on, and before long it’s too late for Frank to go home but he can’t sleep on the couch because Hal wants to watch movies, so he sleeps with Dave instead. They’ve done it before, and Frank doesn’t even break a sweat, his heart barely tumbles around his chest, as they settle down in to bed with a soft squish of mattress.

Dave has this especial warmth tonight. He looks like honey on the bed, happily melted, cheeks chubby and full. The city is bright tonight, but this high up in to the sky it only casts the softest red glow over the teal room, illuminating Dave as if he were deep orange honey. He’s as sweet as such, and doubly beautiful. They are close tonight. They are closer than they ever have been, chests throbbing with warmth, the sliver of space between them slick with hot breath. 

It screams of something more than platonic love. This is not like Dave laying with Hal for a hug, or because Frank is too tired to drag his form to his own bed, this is more than that. There is something new between them here tonight that has never been there before. It feels magical. Dave swears he can hear Frank’s heart thump in his chest from just across. There’s just something so welcoming about this, something so significant and obvious and yet he cannot place a single finger on it. 

Frank is in love with the man across from him, and his innate softness, the warmth he feels in his body whenever they are together. Frank is in love with Dave, plain and simple, but he could never tell Dave he loves him because his love is so strong that the slightest rejection, the tiniest discrepancy in Dave’s reciprocation would make him shatter and fall. Frank is in love with Dave, and he would move mountains and divert rivers and part seas just to see him smile. Frank is in love with Dave, and he is itching to say it where they are now because he knows Dave loves him too, at this moment. Whether he knows it or not, Frank can tell he does, Frank can tell there’s so much more happening behind his eyes. He’s never felt so confident over anything, but still he’ll take it slow. Still he will bide his time mindlessly courting, mindlessly vying and veering for Dave’s approval and affection, because he needs Dave to know. Because he knows that when he says it he won’t be able to hold himself back, he won’t be able to wait a moment longer.

Dave looks at Frank with sweetness in his eyes, and smile on his face that he can’t put away. His cheeks are warm and blushing and he’s not sure why - in fact, he’s not sure why he suddenly feels so comfortable around Frank, why he feels so wonderfully complete here, or why his tummy is buzzing with butterflies. There’s no reason for him to feel so fluttery but he does, and he doesn’t want to keep his arms to himself, he wants to touch and cuddle and be touched. He doesn’t know what this feeling is, it’s new to him, and it’s strange and it makes him feel fuzzy, blurs the lines of things until suddenly he moves closer to Frank and links his arms around his back.

There’s instant comfort in Frank’s body. It’s soft, and sweet, and certainly big enough to cuddle. He’s broad in the shoulders, and slightly toned, but soft where it matters. Dave leans his head against Frank’s shoulder, and his own chest seems to rumble with sweetness and light. He’s safe, he’s oh-so-safe there and the hairs on the back of his neck are still but softness radiates through him. Calm. Safe.

Frank gasps - inaudibly, though Dave feels the sharp intake of breath - and then wraps his arms tightly around Dave. Hungry, drinking up the affection and attention he’s been craving. Dave’s warm, and he’s chubby and cuddly. His body is soft like a pillow, he feels a little like bread dough beneath Frank’s arms, and the slow rise and fall of his chest is comforting. They’re so _close_ , and Frank wants to kiss him, but he restrains himself because he knows that would ruin it. 

This is exactly what he wants, but this isn’t the way he thought Dave would feel in his arms. He expected some kind of resistance, some kind of incompatibility, but Dave fits in to his arms so well. His arms are heavy and his perfect, tight, _needy_ embrace makes Frank feel safe, makes him fall slack and sink in to the mattress like they’re the only people in the world. Frank runs his hands through the back of Dave’s hair and twirls his fingers through the curls, strokes behind his ear; a ticklish Dave giggles as softly as he can but the sound is sweeter than syrup, feels like gossamer silk against wicker baskets. 

This isn’t platonic.

It’s not platonic and Dave can feel that. He’s sure that slowly some sort of change is overcoming him, in the way he feels towards Frank. The way he smiles, the way his cheeks lift up, and the way he delicately handles Dave makes him feel special, makes him feel warm. 

“Dave...” Frank says, trying not to disturb the air in the room. He’s so peaceful his voice has the consistency of honey. It sounds to Dave like Dave’s body feels to Frank. Dave’s at complete ease, there’s not a worry in his mind, a twinge in his body’s he is completely and utterly calm and comforted. 

Frank can’t muster any other words to say - he doesn’t feel like any of the words he knows could describe this save for four he doesn’t have the guts to. How easy would it be to say it? To say _I love you, Dave_ , to throw it out in to the air between them? To say how he really feels, because there is nothing he wants more than this. This is magical. This is perfect. This is real love that grips him, not a crush, but love, and he knows it’s not unrequited but he just _can’t_ choke up a confession.

Dave understands, even though he can’t understand what, and brushes his fingers over Frank’s broad back, running them along the bumps of his spine. Frank shivers, and holds Dave tighter for comfort.

“This is good.” Dave says, moving one of his hands to stroke Frank’s jaw.

“You’re really soft.” Frank admits, hiding his face. Why is he embarrassed _now_? Dave smiles all the same. 

“You’re a good hugger.” Dave looks up, faces him. Their noses press together softly, and the tips of their noses nuzzle against one another. Frank’s nose is squishy, and Dave’s nose is soft. Even their _noses_ are nice to press against each other - hell, Frank’s starting to feel they were made for each other, that Dave’s his soulmate and they were always supposed to find one another.

About to fall asleep, Dave’s grip slackens, but with it comes a new type of comfort. Frank makes up for it, holds him tighter, and he feels _loved._ Loved, in more ways than one, loved more than anyone could ever hope to be. Then, right as he is about to dream, Frank kisses his head. He sleeps better than he has in a long time.

In the morning, Dave wakes up to find their bodies completely intertwined, finding they had gotten even closer in sleep. Frank’s fingers are nestled in Dave’s hair, Dave huddled under the shroud of Frank’s chest, cheek pressed against it. It’s still warm, but the embrace doesn’t pack the same comfort, or specialness of the night before. He has no time to brood over it before Ash crawls up on to him and starts begging for breakfast.


	10. Chapter 10

**[LINK TO THE PLAYLIST](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss) **

  
“I don’t know, I’m just. Thinking about it, and I’d need your help.” Dave explains to Hal, tapping on his glass. He’s trying hard not to focus on his feelings right now, because in all honesty he’s not sure what to feel. “I don’t think I’d have a shift every day and I’d tuck Ash in - it’s just that you’d have to. Babysit, really.”

Hal’s adopted a very protective and authoritarian view on things in the last five minutes, since Dave hinted he wanted a job. He sits staunchly upright in his chair, with his teacup in his hands, a slight angry furrow in his brow.

“I do not think store clerk is the best career option for you.” He states calmly, but there’s a rumble behind it all. “You have a short temper and a condition that causes physical labour to be painful.”

“Not if I take my meds.” Dave shrugs. “Which I do, all the time. I just think it would be good for me to have a job.”

“I can get you a job at the office.”

“Yeah, and what about Ash? I can’t work nine to five, I’m trying to raise a kid.” 

Hal thinks for a moment. “Okay, maybe you are right. But I don’t want you to work. I like having you here.” He deflates, dejected. 

“Hey, I’ll still make dinner, and you have Frank. And I’m sure I won’t be in work _every_ day.” Dave soothes, and Hal sits up a little. “It’ll be okay.”

“Okay. Fine.” Hal sighs. “But. Can you balance work and your therapy sessions? One is vastly more important than the other.”

“We’ll work something out.” Dave says, though he wrinkles his nose as he realises that he hasn’t sorted things out yet, that he still needs to call the doctor. “Hey, I promise you we’ll still see each other. I just wanna make some money, y’know? So I can pay for more things.”

“You don’t have to.” Hal says softly, pouting more than he should. “Dave... I will miss you a lot.”

“I promise it won’t be too much. The guy who owns the store knows me, he knows I’ve got a little boy, I promise you I’ll still be here.”

He’s partially guilty because he already filled out his application and handed it back to the clerk with a smile, the last time he was out with Ash. He’s not sure why he wants to work all of a sudden, but the compulsion’s there. Hal seems to have no objections to caring for Ash for a few hours - and it’s only eight to sixteen hours a week, which he can manage, especially because Ash will (hopefully) be asleep. It means weaning him off his afternoon naps a little, making them shorter so he will sleep better through the night. The money is okay but that’s not what he wants. He came to realise he’d never really held down a job for more than a few months and sought to beat that.

He’s leaving for his first shift, slinging his bag over his shoulder, when Frank catches him. It dawns on him he hasn’t told Frank about his new job yet. Which is strange to him - but the words just never came up.

“Where are you going?” He leans against the door and tilts his head. For the first time, Dave looks at him and his heart skips a beat - has Frank always been so. Hot? He looks... messy, but in an alluring way. His shirt’s untucked and his tie’s gotten jostled so it sticks out and he’s used far too much gel in his hair so it spikes up a little. It’s certainly attractive, distractingly so.

“I forgot to tell you, I got a job.” He catches himself from stumbling just in time. “I’ve just been... pretty busy? Making sure Ash gets to sleep on time and stuff, so we had no surprises tonight.”

“Do you want a chaperone?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure - I’m only going to the store, though.” 

They make their way down the hallway. Dave brushes off his manager-approved black t-shirt and striped apron (to give some kind of vintage, welcoming vibe, it seems), even though he’s not sure if there’s anything there. He just wants to look good for the job.

“So, when does your shift end?”

“Oh, each shift is. About four hours, my boss told me, and I’m not closing up either - thank god, I don’t even know how to do that yet.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up.” Frank smiles, and guides Dave in to the elevator with a little swish of his hand like the most chivalrous of knights. Dave laughs.

“You don’t have to.” Dave’s giggle dies down, and he looks up at Frank, now stood by his side. His stomach then lurches forwards as the elevator jitters out and shoots down. “It’ll be... nearly midnight, by then.”

“So? I don’t want you to walk home alone, so I’ll be there at half past eleven to pick you up.” Frank shrugs. To Frank there’s nothing to it. To Dave it suddenly seems completely monumental. 

He still can’t untangle his feelings after a few nights ago. He can’t get Frank or the comfort that comes with him out of his head. The way Frank kissed his head, how his lips were soft and he happily kept Dave cuddled in the warm crook of his body. He seemed to appreciate Dave’s whole body, too, not flinching at the the slight chubbiness of his form like other people have. He was careful around Dave’s hip, and considerate of his feelings, and made him feel safe. For the first time since Kel left, Dave didn’t feel like he had to sleep with one eye open. He sunk in to sleep like a rock to the bottom of the ocean. Even with Hal, his best friend, his _brother_ , he doesn’t sink like that.

They walk side by side, Dave leaning on his cane, trying to veer away from Frank because facing him when he feels so conflicted is difficult. What is he even conflicted over? He doesn’t even have an answer to the simplest question he can think of; he knows if he could rationalise this, he could find an answer but he can’t think, and it leaves him looking brooding.

Frank was soft. Frank held him when he lunged on to him for contact like some kind of animal. He didn’t ask questions or bring it up afterwards. It was just something that happened, a sudden moment of vulnerability where Dave jumped at him for a hug and he accepted. Is it because he’s kind? Is it because he’s a good person? Or is it because there’s something more to it? Did he need to be hugged too - did Dave pre-empt that? 

“When’d you get the job, then?”

“Oh, yesterday morning, the clerk called me up and told me I got it. Sorry I never told you, it just slipped my mind...” Dave shakes his head, tries to cover his eyes.

“Oh, it’s no biggie.” Is Frank’s nonchalant response.

It _is_ a biggie, and Dave can tell that much. He has the feeling Frank would like to be in the loop on these things. That he’d like to be closer than he is now, that he *wants* to be close. Dave understands. Dave would like to be close to him. But at the same time they both have their barriers that are impossible to avoid, that must be overcome first. Maybe that’s why the air between them was not tense in the slightest, why they were so comfortable, because the barriers of trauma and desperately wanting to be liked didn’t matter.

“You’re being quiet.” Frank probes, but in that soft voice that makes Dave feel safe enough to spill. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just. A bit tired, really. And I’m trying to relax myself and psych myself up for. The first proper work shift since before Ash was born.” He lies through his teeth but Frank seems to buy it. _I’m actually thinking about you, and overthinking all the things you did the other night._

 _I want you to hold me again_ , is a thought that crops you but he refuses to acknowledge it. _I felt safe with you. I trust you. You’re cosy, and I liked the way you kissed my head._

Frank’s got the nagging suspicion Dave is lying to him, but he chooses not to say anything. _You know I like you, don’t you? And you’re trying to think of a way to make me go away because you don’t feel the same._

“Must be nerve-racking.” Frank gives a patient little smile, and watches with his eyes wide as Dave gives an exasperated sigh.

“It _is_.” Dave admits shyly, then he stops. “I really wish I could be at home instead, but at the same time I want to go to work. It’s really weird...”

“I don’t think it’s weird. I mean, you’ve been stuck at home with a kid for two years, of _course_ you want to do something else.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess that might be why.” Dave nods slowly. His feelings are bubbling in his chest and he knows he has to say something. “Oh, about the other night...”

 _Here it comes_ , Frank thinks, bracing himself. _He’s going to tell me what he really thinks._

“Yeah?” He whets the silence, biting on his cheek. He prepares himself for anything Dave might say but he knows most of all that it’s going to hurt, that he’s going to have to go home to his own bed tonight and cry. There’s nothing much to do or say - it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would to know it was going to happen. Maybe because he always thought it _would_ happen. He takes a deep breath and he waits for Dave to speak.

“I. I wanted to say thanks.”

“What?” It throws him off, and he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah- I. Um. I slept really well, because. You’re a really good hugger.” He admits. Frank seems to choke on his own breath. _And I think we should do it again because it made me feel fuzzy and you seemed happy too._ He’s not sure how to articulate that last part because it’s hard to say without sounding like a fucking creep. He wants to spit it out, to say that he really, _really_ liked cuddling with Frank. That he slept better than he has in months in Frank’s arms. That he can still feel Frank’s lips pressed to his head and whenever he thinks about it there’s this fluttering in his tummy that makes him feel like he could sprout wings and fly. 

“Thanks!” Frank smiles, and it’s a wide smile, maybe even a little weird but he doesn’t care. “I’ll hug you any time you want, just say the word.”

Dave notices they’re almost at the store. “How about now?”

Frank doesn’t even wait for him to finish before latching his arms around Dave, and hugging him tightly in broad daylight. Dave hugs back with his one arm and pulls Frank’s chin down to kiss the tip of his nose with the same softness he’d use to kiss Ash. Frank’s stunned by the tiniest of pecks, and is left blushing and gawping wide, trying to stop himself from looking like an idiot in front of a crush that might actually like him back.

“So, I’ll see you at half eleven?” Dave asks after Frank finally lets go.

“Yeah. You will.” 

Frank smiles the whole way he walks back to Hal’s, and vows never to wash his nose again. Or at least until he really needs to.

Things with Ash don’t go as smoothly as planned. He wakes up for a drink at 9pm, practically jet propelling himself out his crib and talking to the baby monitor, which he’s clever enough to know will help him escape the bedroom and get some tea. Hal and Frank are watching TV in the living room when they hear Ash start to babble for a drink, and they stare at the monitor in the living room as if they were in a horror movie. It’s quite comedic... or it would be, if Dave was there.

Cautiously, Hal lets him out and picks him up, because he knows Ash won’t get back in the crib without a drink. Ash holds on to him sleepily, and dangles his leg-and-a-half down. He can barely hold himself up but he’s still thirsty, he still needs to drink before he can sleep.

“What do you want to drink?” Hal sits him down in his highchair temporarily, but the toddler doesn’t rouse. “Tea?”

Ash doesn’t reply, only looks around for any sign of Dave and whimpers. It’s clear who he wants, but he’s satiated temporarily with tea and a hug on the couch.

“Papa?” He mumbles, still looking around. “Where?”

Hal’s not sure what to say to him, so he ignores the question. Ash cuddles in to him, and sleepily dribbles tea over his shoulder. He’s trying to drink but he’s far too floppy to do so, and he’s far too tired to admit he doesn’t want a drink. He sucks slowly as Hal pats his back, kisses him on the head very gently. He tries to be generally comforting for his nephew, even turning the TV down so he can feel sleepier, so he’ll drift off faster when he’s back in bed. 

When Hal thinks Ash is finally asleep, he slowly brings him back to bed. Yet a few minutes later he’s crying out loudly for Dave, whimpering and smacking the slats of his bed with his hands. He wants attention, he wants to be loved and cuddled. They repeat this cycle twice over, but still he’s crying a fourth time. Irritated, Hal draws his knees up to his chest and covers his head with a blanket, and Frank creeps through to the bedroom to pick him up.

“Hiya.” Frank says softly, shushing him. He kneels down next to the bed and strokes the side of Ash’s face. “I got you, don’t worry.”

He takes the little boy in to his arms, sits on the end of Dave’s bed, and bounces him up and down on his leg. Slowly, Ash quietens down, and Frank begins to rock him from side to side, to pet his back and kiss his little head. 

“Hey, there you are. You’re okay.” Frank whispers, still patting the child’s back. “You’re okay, Frankie’s got you.” 

He’s not sure if it’s working, but Ash seems soothed. He rests quietly in the crook of Frank’s arms, and Frank feeds a pacifier in to Ash’s mouth. He takes it gladly, and his eyes shut and he holds on to the little ring attached to the pacifier with his tiny stubby fingers. He’s adorable.

“You sleepy?” Frank asks him, still trying to soothe. It’s working, it really is - Ash nods and lets out the tiniest whine as Frank tucks him in to his own bed. 

He knows he can’t leave just yet, that Ash needs comfort in bed even when he looks comfortable there. He looks around for a moment, Ash’s tears threatening to spill again, and then he finds Dave’s orange cardigan. He pulls Ash’s blanket down and slips it over him, and Ash pulls some of the soft fabric over his face. Somehow, Frank knew that would do the trick. 

He sits down by Ash, and runs his thumb over the side of the child’s face until he knows he’s very asleep, and snoring only slightly. Only then does he let go and leave Ash alone in the bedroom, where he sleeps well. For Ash, the scents of Frank and Dave are inexorably mixed.

••

Frank is outside the tiny convenience store, as promised, at precisely 11:30pm. Dave is let out three minutes later, and when he sees Frank he gasps and rushes to his side. The _moron_ (thought softly, with affection) forgot to bring some kind of covering, and is stood shivering in his work shirt in the cold, dark night. Before they’re even stood together, Dave whips his big orange scarf off and readies himself to wrap it around Frank’s shoulders. He’s brought a coat, anyway. It’s more of a shawl than a scarf, but it does the job of both.

“Thanks.” He smiles through painfully red cheeks and chattering teeth. “You, uh. You really like orange. You act like you’re in to fuckin’ teal and duck egg but _you_ , Dave, are orange.”

Dave giggles in response. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. When’d you notice that, huh? Quite an... astute observation.” 

“I was tucking Ashie in, he was real upset without you, and I wrapped him in your cardigan to get him to sleep.” Frank explains, Dave’s patchwork shroud of orange starting to fight off the bitter chill inside. “And I noticed just how out of place it was, and most of your sweaters are warm-toned, and all your bracelets are orange and yellow, and you even use orange clips when you tie your hair back but. But your room is blue.”

“It’s... always been my favourite colour, something about it just fits. Hence the blue room, it goes against the orange. Makes it stand out.”

Frank thinks about that for a moment.

Dave is orange. Dave wears orange all the time. His socks, his accessories - even the coat he wore to work his scarf was a deep, deep orange. He wants it to stand out against his room, where he bides a lot of his time. It dawns on Frank then that he wants to be noticed, he doesn’t want to be the wallflower he pretends to be. Dave wants to be seen, and loved. 

“Well, did it work? Did he sleep?” Dave tilts his head. Under the light of the streetlamps he looks especially pale and sweet. His beautifully blue eyes shine like emeralds, his cheeks are made slightly red by the slight brush of icy rain that is sweeping over them. 

_I see you, and you are perhaps the most handsome, beautiful creature I have ever laid my eyes on._

“Oh, like a rock. He had his pacifier too, but he pulled your cardigan up to his nose and sniffed away at it until he finally fell asleep. It was adorable.”

“Was he bad? I’m sorry-” Dave starts to apologise, but Frank shushes him with a finger.

“Dave, he’s. He’s two, and he’s never slept without you there before. Of course he was going to have a little trouble, but we sorted it out and he’s sleeping really well now.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Dave smiles. “I’m. Glad he slept well.”

“Yeah.” Frank returns the gesture, and loops an arm around Dave’s shoulder. Dave leans in to the crook of Frank’s arm, lets Frank shelter him from the slight rain that’s sweeping over Urbana. 

Physical intimacy. _Physical intimacy_ \- they are freely and openly touching each other, as if any boundaries they’ve set up have suddenly crumbled. It’s no longer just something that happened in bed bed, it’s no longer warmth and comfort-seeking in the moment, but a *choice* to touch and hold. Dave _enjoys_ his touch and his advances, even if he’s not fully aware of their nature quite yet.

At home they talk for a while on the couch, closer than usual. Dave talks about his shift, and it was generally pleasant. People were nice to him, he didn’t have any tricky customers, and he didn’t have to get anything he couldn’t reach. Even if things _were_ out of arms reach, there was a stepladder he could easily climb up, that he’d used very well when stacking the shelves of alcohol that towered behind him at the checkout.

“Hey, Dave...” Frank asks, a yawn creeping in to his voice. “I’m real tired, I think I might go home.”

“I want you to stay, though.” Dave pleads, standing and taking his apron off. Frank notices he really does have the perfect body - the perfect one in _his_ mind. Dave is short, and he’s got this slight chubbiness about him, where his wrists are thick enough to hold; he is big enough to hold, really. He’s not scrawny, and he has a slight paunch and thick thighs and Frank would like to imagine how soft they are, how silky they would be beneath his hands, what it would be like to see his body and be uniquely intimate with him. Gently so, too. He knows someone has hurt Dave, he wouldn’t ever want to hurt him, but the thoughts running through his mind are still blatantly erotic in nature. 

He can’t believe that his fantasies of Dave have only become so graphically sexual recently, but it occurs to him that he’s only ever felt Dave’s body, he’s never really seen it. He tends to hide it with soft sweaters, almost as if he’s ashamed of it. He stands up and goes to the bathroom, because he’s ashamed of the very same thing that has him looking at Dave’s body, almost as if he were mapping it out so he could imagine how it would feel beneath his hands.

It’s okay to have these kinds of thoughts about people you like. He knows that. His hands inexplicably shake as he runs himself a glass of icy water from the kitchen sink and gulps it down until the cup’s empty. He stands in front of the huge mirror and stares blankly at himself, then drinks another glass of water at a much slower tempo. He breathes, and then he’s calm, and free of the intruding images of what Dave’s naked self might look like, what he would do to him. The strange throbbing, hot feeling in his chest and deep in his stomach subsides and he sits on the wicker laundry basket as he dresses in to his makeshift pyjamas. They’re Dave’s, and they smell like him, and they’re a little small but still comfortable.

Why can’t he control himself? He’s not a teenager. He should be able to control his fantasies around Dave, they shouldn’t taint their interactions or force him to leave in case he became genuinely aroused. He’s scared he’d try something that would upset Dave.

“Hey, Frank?” Dave says from outside the door. “Are you staying?”

“Yeah, I am.” Frank calls out. He hears Dave sigh out in relief.

“Can I come in?”

“If you want to, but I was about to come out.” Frank laughs, and he opens the door to see Dave anxiously waiting outside. Frank’s appearance seems to soothe him, seems to make him feel calmer.

“What’s wrong?” Frank asks in that saccharine voice of his again, the one that makes Dave melt. “Hey...” He cups Dave’s cheek in his hand. 

“I. I got a little scared you weren’t coming.” He smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing important.”

“It is important, it _bothers_ you.” Frank soothes. “Let’s go to bed.”

Frank slowly walks Dave to the bedroom, holding his hand. They curl up together in bed, Dave as warm as ever. Frank’s heart thumps against him, and Dave runs over Frank’s chest with his finger. The darkness around them is cold, but beneath the silky blanket it’s a world of warmth and affection. Frank presses a kiss to Dave’s head again, and Dave one to Frank’s nose.

This can’t be _friendship_. This isn’t something friends do. Friends cuddle, and they can kiss each other, and friends might even sleep in the same bed every now and then, and say ‘I love you,’ but kissing and cuddling in bed for emotional release and comfort and warmth has to be something else, right? Maybe not romantic love but something more than friendship.

Where’s the line? You can cuddle your friends, and you can tell them you love them because you _do_ love them. But at what point does it become _romantic_ love? Is it sex? It can’t be sex - sex doesn’t mean love. And friends can have sex if they want to because it doesn’t mean _anything_ in the long run. It’s just sex. 

Is it that feeling inside Frank right now? Where he wants to hold Dave, and protect him, and adore him, and stand by his side? That fluttering in his chest whenever their eyes meet, is that love? Or has he just never felt true friendship before? Is it romance when you _say_ it is? And if that’s the case, how would you know if your partner loved you back? It would mean there wasn’t one standard for love, which would become confusing, and-

“Are you okay?” Dave asks, having put a hand up to Frank’s chest.

“I’m okay.” Frank whispers, and he buries his head in to Dave’s hair. It’s so _soft_ , and it smells like _Dave_ ; this soothing smell of. _Something_ \- he smells like a person, like long-forgotten perfume and comfort incarnate.

He decides he loves Dave just because he does. There’s nothing else to it - there can’t be. He loves Dave because he wants to, and because he’s decided he loves him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peep

**[LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss) **

**{CW - food mention, trauma discussion}**

  
“Hey, Hal. You want a donut?” Frank leans on the polyester wall that separates Hal from the rest of the department. “Or coffee. Whatever.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Hal nods, and takes one last look at his hit statistics before standing up and joining Frank’s side.

“You wanna like. Get naughty, skip work?” Frank gives a little nudge and a wink. “Sit down for coffee in a break room that doesn’t look like it was last cleaned in 1977?”

“I could use that.” Hal sighs, and nods. 

“Yeah, you look like you need a bitch.”

The coffee shop is packed at this time of the day, and Frank and Hal are able to take a seat by the window without being noticed. 

“So, Hal, what’s your issue?” Frank leans back in his chair and crosses his legs over one another. Hal’s already noticed he’s much more boisterous, more playful than usual, though he chooses not to say anything. It’s a nice change. 

“Lots of things.”

“What’s the most pressing one?”

“Ash’s birthday.” Hal sighs out deeply as he lets the weight off, taking a deep sip of coffee. “You know about the party, right? And my mom’s coming? Well, my sister wants to come too, because she’ll be around here, but that’s gonna be too many people for Ash, and I’m scared he’s gonna get really mad. And bite someone, and damn - it really, really hurts.”

“How would you know? Ash would never bite you.”

“Yeah, but. Kel came. And they tried to hold Ash, and he *bit* them.” Hal explains quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Frank leans in so he can hear better. “Dave was trying to let them be a part of Ash’s life, sad they just couldn’t see it. That’s when they said that Dave should get Ash tested.”

“For what? Maybe they’re just a bitch.” Frank scoffs, with a whole lot of venom that’s completely uncharacteristic of him. Hal raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I’m getting real fucking sick of them. And I haven’t even met them.”

“It’s okay.” Hal shrugs. “If I am honest with you, I have never liked them. Not even when them and Dave were together.”

“No, I wouldn’t have either.” _For a completely different reason._

“I just knew they were bad.” He admits. “From the moment I met them, I hated their guts. But I was scared Dave would think I was just jealous.”

“He wouldn’t have thought that, because it wasn’t jealousy.” Frank shakes his head, leans back in his chair. “You just want to protect him.”

“You do too.” For a moment, Hal seems to stare directly in to his soul, despite the fact that their eyes never make contact. It’s this blank stare that sees right through him. _I know you, and I know what you want from him._

“Who doesn’t?” Frank tries to shrug it off with a laugh, but Hal’s stare is still piercing. “Well, out of the two of us...”

“There’s another thing. I don’t know what to get Ash for his birthday.” Hal unexpectedly changes the topic. 

“Well, I wanted to go get his present. I found it a few days ago, maybe you can find something for him too.”

Hal shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “But. We’re already missing work.”

“Hal, how many times have we ditched work and they have _n_ _ever_ noticed?” Frank raises an eyebrow.

He manages to persuade Hal to come along with him. Frank buys the light-up lullaby frog that he found a few weeks prior, and tucks it away in his backpack in case Ash were to be around.

“So, what are you thinking?” He turns to Hal, who is chin deep in thought. 

“Fish.”

“Like a. A stuffed animal. Or like, an entire fish tank? With real fish?”

“Well, recently. He’s been begging me to put on a video of fish and he will just sit there, watching them. He’s like Dave in that respect. But yes, fish. Big, pretty ones.”

“Fish, yeah... that might be a good idea.” Frank nods. “I mean, what do you get for the two year old that has everything?”

“A leg.” Hal stares at him blankly, then he gives a small smile. “That’s what Dave’s getting him.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t think he’d sit still long enough.” Frank raises an eyebrow. 

“Yes, they had the fitting yesterday.” Hal explains, tapping his hands together. “He didn’t really know what was going on, and Dave has got him some toys he will actually be interested in, too. But the leg is the big one.”

“So. Where do we find fish?”

“We will have to after work. Until then I will draft up a plan. Logistics, on what fish to get. And how I will keep said fish from Ash until his birthday.” 

“Yeah.” Frank nods. “Maybe you could make a plan and bring it home the night before, after he’s gone to bed.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea.”

Back at work, Hal spends his day plotting rather than working.

hey dave i need you to do something for me   
  
what’s wrong bro  
  
the space between the movies cabinet and the tv. measure it please  
  
ok gimme a second  
  
where’s the tape measure  
  
kitchen bottom shelf by fridge  
  
ok thanks  
  
80 by 40cm thereabouts  
  
why  
  
are you allergic to fish by any chance  
  
can you be allergic to fish  
  
I don’t know that’s why I’m asking you  
  
well i don’t think so  
  
is ash allergic to fish?  
  
Hal.  
  
hal what are you doing  
  


He doesn’t reply for a moment, too caught up in the pretty fish tanks.

Hal!!!!!!!! What!!! Are!!! You!!! Plotting!!!  
  
nothing. nothing at all.  
  
oh no.  
  
is he allergic to fish though.  
  
no he isnt  
  
good  
  


By the end of the day, he has a full list written out of the tank and filter he will buy, as well as having calculated how many fish he can comfortably hold in it. The plant ecosystem has been mapped to the very last fern, the rocks have been planned, the fish are all accounted for and should be comfortable.

“Ready to go home?” Frank’s voice pulls Hal from his reveries of fish floating like gossamer in his own living room, and he spends a few minutes awkwardly getting his things together. “Let’s see the plan.”

He thrusts the wrinkled paper in front of Frank, and Frank takes it from him to read it as they walk down the street. It’s not cold enough to warrant taking the bus yet, and walking is far more fun. Hal holds on to the straps of his backpack while Frank reads the neatly organised tables and lists. Everything he would ever need to know about keeping fish is in there, and it only took Hal a few hours...

“Can’t see anything wrong with it. You might wanna check with Dave, though.” Frank suggests as he hands it back to Hal.

“Why? It’s my house, I decide on the fish.” Hal shoots a glare in to the distance, then snatches the paper and folds it neatly until it fits in to his trouser pocket. “I think he’s figured it out though. I asked him to measure dimensions so I could get an idea of tank size.”

“Did you _tell_ him you were getting fish?”

“Uh. No.” He admits sheepishly, and his cheeks seem to flush up and there’s a little twinkle in his visible eye. “It’s a surprise until I get home.”

There’s a pause, where Hal grabs the straps of his backpack again and twirls around. Frank pulls him back to the centre - yanking his collar, as if he’s grabbing Hal by the scruff - of the sidewalk as the spin threatens to smack him headfirst in to a lamppost.

“Hey, Hal, can I ask you something?” He nearly bites his tongue, but he can’t anymore. This question’s been on his mind for a while and he has to put it to rest.

“Yeah?”

Frank pauses. He knows he could just say ‘never mind’ and Hal wouldn’t question a thing. He would remember it later but it wouldn’t matter because Frank knows this is coming out of left field for him.

“If. If I loved Dave, what would you do?” He chokes it up because it has to be said and he’s not. He can’t pussy away from the reality of things any longer. Put simply the way he loves Dave is making him feel like a _creep_ especially because of the new intimacy between them; if it was one sided then that would be more than disgusting. 

Hal takes a moment, to process what Frank has said, but he doesn’t really take the time to consider it. “You’re not bad like other people he’s dated. I wouldn’t try and kill you or anything.” Then he thinks, and it hits. It makes perfect sense. _“Oh my god - you like him, don’t you?”_

“Maybe a little.” Frank giggles. “You’re not... mad, are you?”

“No. As I said, you’re good. I would rather you date him than many people he has tried.” Hal’s eyes shift around him. “Are you going to tell him? Please don’t do it in front of me. I find those things, uh, _cringe.”_

“I won’t.” Frank nods, understanding completely. He feels the same about other people. “Hal, how do I. Win him over?”

Hal thinks for a moment. “I don’t know, and even if I did I don’t think I’d tell you because that means he would only be attracted to your actions.”

“I... guess.” Frank folds his arms. “I guess I mean. How would he. How would I know he liked me back?”

“Those are two very different things, Frank.”

“Please?”

“Dave is very. Strange around relationships. He has not been treated very well in the past, and I think I have told you that before. Still... I would imagine. Physical affection, seeming to hang off you like a little bat, wanting to be near you all the time. That is how he generally acts.”

That’s how he _is_ acting. Frank’s heart skips a beat.

“You won’t tell him, will you?”

“No, that’s your job.” Hal sticks his tongue out, and wrinkles his nose.

They get home, and Dave is cooking with Ash on his hip, fussing quietly as he browns something off with a wooden spatula. Hal peers over his shoulder, smelling meat and curious to see what Dave is making.

“Making cheeseburger pasta bake.” Dave explains, looking at the short friend by his other side. Ash chews a finger and tries to reach for the pot before Dave swipes him back. The toddler whines. “I won’t let you burn yourself, and I’m the asshole?”

“I will take this.” Frank swoops Ash up, and cuddles him close as he goes to sit down. “Hey, Ashie...”

“Dave?” Hal’s still persisting at Dave’s side, but Dave’s taken a moment to stretch his back out before hunching back over the cast iron pot. 

“Yeah?” Dave tilts his head. “If this is about the fish - no, me and Ash aren’t allergic, but I think I deserve an explanation, so could I have one?”

Hal pulls out the slip of paper, fans it out and shows it to Dave. Then he puts a finger on his lips to indicate to be quiet, which they’ve always used as a signal for non-verbal communication.

“Oh!” Dave exclaims. He moves the pot off the heat, then begins signing. ” _Why?”_

Hal folds the paper and slips it away. _”Ash likes to watch fish.”_

_”That’s sweet of you.”_

” _Frank bought the frog too._ ” Hal explains. ” _We will get the fish soon. Before Ash goes to bed on his birthday. Are you in work that day?”_

 _”I’d have to check my shifts, but I don’t think so.”_ Dave thinks for a moment, then switches back to the pot to make sure the meat is evenly browned. When it’s back on a comfortable sear, Dave switches back to signing. _”No, I don’t think I do.”_

Over on the couch, Frank is completely enthralled by the graceful movement of hands through the air. Dave’s are especially captivating, and he’s lost in the way they slide through every word, the way each finger deftly flicks from one movement to the next. He’s so _skilled_. Frank has always found hands innately intimate in nature, in all sorts of ways. Another set of little hands tug on his sleeve.

“Fishy?”

“Oh, you want fish?” Frank looks down, the boy nods in recognition. “Hal?” He calls across the room.

“Yeah?” Hal calls back, his attention suddenly diverted from his best friend’s hands. 

“Ash wants his fish, what do I do?”

“I think the video’s already in the player, just switch over to it!” As soon as he’s finished talking, his eyes move over to Dave once more and they are separated from Frank and Ash.

When Ash is watching his fish, he seems completely separated. His eyes widen as he watches the flashes of colour pass by the screen, myriad tones of red and gold emulsifying, fluttering in never ending seas of blue and green. Light filters through the waves, from meters and meters above. The scene is mystical, and Frank wholly understands why Ash is lost so frequently in this magical world.

Maybe he would like diving, in coral reefs. He’s seen pictures of Dave swimming - back when he was a kid, there seems to be nothing of him after about the age of fifteen - maybe that where he gets it.

The meat nicely browned, Dave saunters through to the living room and seems to flinch when he first sees the screen, but then becomes lost in its intricate depths. At the same time, he’s clearly uncomfortable, his shoulders are shifting and pinched inwards like a clothes peg. Frank clears his throat, and taps Dave’s shoulder twice. As gently as he can, but it still seems to shake him deeply.

“Hey, Dave?” Frank says softly, pulling at the handle of his backpack. “Can I show you something?”

“Yeah?” He rouses suddenly.

In Dave’s bedroom, door cautiously closed and locked, they sit on the bed, and Frank produces the frog. Dave gasps.

“Oh, isn’t he just _precious_?!” His eyes turn wide and sparkle as he pulls the frog close. “Oh my god! Oh, he’s. Perfect.”

“Ash’ll like him?”

“Ash will _love_ him, oh my god... I feel terrible now. I just got him some little wooden things.”

“And a _leg_.” Frank says softly. “Come on, he’ll love it.”

“I’m worried he won’t.” Dave leans his head on Frank’s shoulder, still holding the frog. “Oh... I love this little guy, Frank. He’s just too cute.”

“Hey, Ash’ll love his leg, I’m sure.” Frank says softly, wrapping an arm around Dave’s side. “What kid _doesn’t_ love running around, huh?”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just scared he won’t use it, y’know? That he won’t get used to it, that I’ve left it for too long.” He admits, voice hushed. 

“It’s gonna be okay.” Somehow they’ve gotten closer, noses almost knocking against one another, foreheads touching together. “I’m here for you. Besides... he’s two. I’m sure he doesn’t even know what’s going on. Next week, Dave, he’ll wake up to some presents and have no clue what that means.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Dave sighs. “He won’t know, will he?”

He looks down at the little frog, and he smiles, his heart seems to tingle in his chest. He looks back in to Frank’s eyes. Glowing frogs. The softly petting hand linked around his waist. The way he lifts his hand to cup the side of Frank’s face, running his thumb down his undereye, the way their noses touch. Prosthetic legs. The domestic softness of Dave’s sweater against the corporate roughness of Frank’s shirt. The way they wrap around each other, legs linked together, hands wrapped around each other’s backs. Dave slips his head down on to Frank’s shoulder, and Frank runs his fingers through the back of Dave’s hair.

“So anyway, what the hell’s a cheeseburger pasta bake?” He asks, cheek leaning against Dave’s head. “Like... I have never heard of this, and I feel like I should’ve.”

“Cheese sauce, beef, tomato slices, pasta, then you put breadcrumbs on the top and put it in the oven, pull it out, more breadcrumbs and then drizzle mustard on it. It’s _disgustingly_ good.” 

“Sounds it.” Frank grins. 

“It’s something I used to make a lot, when I was a kid because. All the stuff’s cheap and you normally have it, and you can just use mince or. Hot dogs or any meat really.”

Frank sighs. He knows there’s a lot more to Dave’s past than he lets on, but he chooses simply to hold him, and not probe any further.

••

Laying together in bed again, Dave is tucked neatly in Frank’s arms, closely spooning.

“Am I choking you with my hair?” Dave asks softly, noticing just how close Frank’s nose is to his neck. 

“No.” Frank whispers back, and hooks his head around Dave’s shoulder. He strokes up and down Dave’s front, taking comfort in the weight laid in his lap. “You’re not.”

“I’m thinking about cutting it.”

“Don’t, the curls are pretty.” Is Frank’s sleepy response. “Really pretty...”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re very pretty.” He mumbles. In his sleepy delirium, he refuses to hold his tongue. Some part of him wants Dave to know. Know what, he doesn’t know - how pretty and handsome he is might be a part of it.

He knows his thoughts don’t make all too much sense but he’s sick to death of holding the love he has for this man in his chest and he wants, badly, to let the song that he’s been brewing in his chest for months spill in to the warmth. He thinks Dave is nearly asleep anyway.

_Frank thinks he’s pretty._

That stirs up unexpected feelings, of being younger and in love with Betty, but they don’t feel sour in his mouth. Feelings of Cara, and Scott, and Oliver, and Joshua before those brief little honeymoons of sweetness swept away with the realisation it couldn’t work. Kel, too, when their relationship was still early, and happy. Where his heart would flutter and he would gladly kiss and cuddle to his heart’s content. Where he would proudly declare he was in love before it all went wrong. 

It feels like food you think you like but there’s an element you don’t, some sort of aftertaste, or astringency that puts you off it the more you eat. Is that the trauma? Has Betty - in her infinite, disabling reach - rendered him unable to take a compliment from someone that means the world to him? All he said was that Dave was pretty but that prickles at his entire body.

Then he thinks a little longer. Frank is not Betty.

He is much softer than she was. Much more caring, and accepting. There’s no pressure to be anyone, or anything, or _do_ anything. None at all. And he’s chivalrous, and he gives good hugs, he seems to care. Best of all, Frank has never been in love with his dead brother, which is maybe a strange little prerequisite for dating Dave but there nonetheless and the faith he has in it helps.

Something better; Dave is _clean_ to Frank. He’s not damaged or broken or disgusting. He didn’t kill his brother and in his eyes, Betty has never touched him. He’s just Dave; and it’s clear he’s got baggage but Frank doesn’t seem to care. He seems to be even more attached and doting and dare he say _loving_ the more Dave spills to him.

Frank is soft against him, and Frank is kind and makes him feel safe. Like all the boys he’s loved in the past, but ten times as loving, ten times as alluring and attractive, willing to have and to hold and bare his human qualities to him even though he doesn’t feel they _are_ human. He’s wonderfully, undeniably _human_ ; there is no facade, he admits his needs for affection and loving and caring and he will kiss and cuddle to his heart’s content. There are no drawbacks like there have been the others - Oliver was a neat freak, Scott didn’t eat enough, Joshua was clinging on to the notion that boys don’t cry - but Frank has none of that, there is nothing about him that Dave would change. He’s fluid and he respects Dave’s boundaries and he’s human and he’s got flaws but it doesn’t matter because he’s breathtakingly perfect all the same. That’s all he’s ever wanted from a guy.

Is. Is he in love?

He thinks about what it would be like to turn over and kiss him. Really _kiss_ him - feel Frank’s lips against his own, feel heat rising to his cheeks and butterflies in his chest and his tummy but so much more powerful than any kiss he’s ever had. He _wants_ it. 

He is, isn’t he? He’s in love with Frank, and was too stupid to even realise it, and he’s probably been throwing signals left, right, and centre and Frank probably _knows_ Dave is in to him already. Yet again, he can’t control himself, like he’s some sex crazed animal. It _hurts_ to admit it because he knows what will happen; they will get close, and Frank will become invested and want him, and Frank will want to have sex and he’ll want it himself and then he will splutter and fall as it happens and leave Frank to clean up the mess because he’s still fucking broken. Because he’s not ready for love and he doesn’t deserve softness and intimacy and he shouldn’t fucking put himself out like that because he knows he will fuck it up. This is the exact same as with Oliver, and Cara, and Scott, and Joshua - except now it is one of his closest friends, who he loves dearly in so many ways he can’t even begin to describe, and he’s been fucked up so much he can’t even enjoy being in love anymore, like it’s some kind of labour - hell, this won’t come easy, this won’t come easy at all and he knows he has to bury it, he has to make it stop, he has to bury it and kill it before he hurts someone he well and truly loves. 

“Dave?” Frank mumbles softly, roused enough from sleep to speak. “Are you okay? You’re crying...”

Back in his body, he is crying. Quietly, but violently so, body jerking forwards with each sobbing convulsion. Frank pets him softly, and rubs his head against Dave’s shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” He sounds like a broken toy, slowly drifting deeper in to sleep but still wanting to help. He pulls Dave around and cuddles him. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

Within moments he’s calmer, and breathing in and out deeply to control the tears as a sleepy Frank wipes them away with his thumb and whispers things that sound like reassuring words. 

“You’re okay.” He whispers, and shelters Dave in the shadow of his chest with a bear like hug. “Stop crying, I’ve got you, I’m here.”

Maybe Frank likes him too, which makes it worse because he’s disappointing on the inside, and he comes with a lot of baggage and emotional upkeep. Neither can he bring himself to break Frank’s heart. It’s strikingly clear now, that all this time, Frank has given him soft love. Frank gives him sweetness, and calmness, and light and warmth and comfort. Head kisses and nose kisses and cheek kisses and the softest hugs. He knows there are problems and he still chooses to give him care and affection. He’s not sure what to think of the realisation other than accepting it gives some comfort (though dulled by emotional weakness) to his shattering being. Tired from tears, he slowly drifts away with the tightness of Frank’s hug guiding him there. Before it can consume him completely, he presses the softest kiss to Frank’s chin.


	12. Chapter 12

_**[LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss) ** _

  
The birthday party comes around quickly, and before Dave knows it’s the night before his sweet baby’s second birthday. As he’s tucking Ash in to bed, he can barely believe that less than two years ago his sweet little Ash, was a newborn baby, and much more chill than he is now. He kisses his little son’s forehead and tucks him in up to his chin with his teddy bear. His sweet little hands set themselves free and grab at his face and hair, vying for nothing more than attention and care as he gets dragged back down for another kiss and cuddle.

“Goodnight, baby boy.”

“Stay.” Ash chirps. “Please. Birthday.”

“I can’t, you have to sleep now.” Dave explains, and Ash turns over in a huff. “Papa’s got things to do for your birthday.”

“No.” He folds his arms and lets out a tiny growl. As threatening as it’s supposed to be, it’s adorable. 

“But if papa stays, you can’t have any cake because he won’t have time to make it.” That seems to win a bit of a reaction, an annoyed little chirp. Pleased, he runs his thumb over his son’s arm. “Come on, Ashie, it’s sleepy time.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Wow, Ashie, the only time you talk is to tell me no.” Dave sighs. “Well, seeing as you keep saying no, maybe you don’t want a cuddle from papa?”

He grumbles something incomprehensible again, and turns around on the bed. His tiny nose is wrinkled upwards and his eyes are locked in a glare.

“Oh, you do want a cuddle?” Dave raises an eyebrow. The toddler nods sheepishly. Dave picks him up and holds his son close, melting on the inside at the same time. It lasts for a while, his tiny son grabbing at him for ‘kissies’ and holding him, getting a good sniff of his dad. Eventually he pulls away and lays back down. “Sleep now?”

“Okay.” Ash nods, and he comes up for a second hug, latching on to Dave a few moments longer. 

“I love you very much, baby boy.” Dave whispers, kissing his cheek before he leaves him alone in bed. There’s very little fuss from him, but there’s fuss from Hal, who is trying to set up the tank. “How’s. How’s it going?” Dave tilts his head, and gives a patient smile to Hal. He can tell it’s not going well from the glare Hal shoots him.

“I chose a very tight spot.”

“Maybe we should move the TV...?” Dave suggests haphazardly - though he knows Hal probably has a plan for exactly how this is going to go. 

“Maybe that is a good idea. But I feel we should wait for Frank to get back - he is getting the fish, and he is very strong.” Is his surprising resignation.

“The two of us could probably pull it.” Dave smiles, and he walks over to the glass stand and gives it a gentle tug away from Hal. “See? Slides fine - how much space do you need?”

“Keep pulling.” Hal commands, and Dave obliges until he gives a signal to stop. “Okay. That should do it.”

The tank is actually gorgeous, and fits in well with the design of Hal’s home. It’s a huge glass sphere mounted on a white prism, with a filter in the top and lights in the bottom. Hal fills up the tank part by part, gravel first, then water, and driftwood, and rolls up his sleeves to add plants while Dave watches, and gives unwarranted advice. He realises after a while that Hal knows exactly what he wants to do already, and he quits it before Hal might snap at him. Long day, it seems.

“What do you think?” Hal looks up, hands and scissors covered in green particulates. His eyes are wide, and Dave gives him a pert nod and smile as affirmation. 

“It looks nice.” 

“And then, I thought that maybe we could put the bean bags behind here so you could see it. It would be good for Ash... a calm-down corner.”

“Oh, that _is_ a good idea.” 

Frank returns with the fish, and Hal gets to introducing them in to the environment. Hal being too busy in his aquascaping efforts, Dave and Frank sidle to the kitchen as Dave fixes him a drink. Pink lemonade for the man he loves, after an exceptionally long day. Frank gulps it down, exhausted, leaning back on the spinning chairs nested under the counter. He sighs, loosens his tie. Dave is caught in the curve of his throat and the way his stubble covers it just, glimpses of sweat dribbling near his collarbone. How has he never noticed just how attractive Frank is?

“You at work tonight?” His dry, masculine voice chokes up through the drink. Husky. 

“Uh, no, not until the day after tomorrow.” Dave takes a sip of his own drink to try and cool his cheeks. “I can’t believe he’s _two_ tomorrow. He’s so big now, even though it seems he’s been as old as he is forever.” 

“Yeah, god, I mean. Thinking of when he was eighteen months old, when I met him. He’s so much bigger now.” Frank’s mouth wrinkles upwards. His eyes glance over to Dave, lost deeply in thought. 

“And he’s gonna get. Bigger still. Until he’ll probably be taller than me, which will put _you_ out of business.” Dave laughs, really laughs, though he’s nervous all the same. Frank can feel his heart beating in his chest. 

“No, I’m a freak of nature. He’ll never get as big as me, nobody can.” Frank states matter-of-factly, but his eyes are softened with love. “You know how tall the kid-donors were?”

“Kel’s about 5’4, I think. Really ditty, I was barely taller than them and I consider myself one of the shortest guys on the planet. As for the other one, I don’t know. Never met them.”

“He won’t get that big, then.” Frank concludes, taking another sip of his drink. “My role as Dave’s-thing-grabber is safe.”

“Hah, yeah.” Dave smiles; the word ‘ _husband_ ’ comes to mind and his chest seems to explode with a faint happiness. “Guess it is.”

As the hours pass by they get close again, making sure prosthetic legs and singing frogs are wrapped well and placed in a pretty bag for Ash to open in the morning. Avni shows up. Frank helps haphazardly as Dave frosts the cake he’s made; some ends up on _Frank_ rather than the sponge. Eventually time passes by, and he has to go home because he suddenly remembers something he was supposed to do.

“You’re not staying?” Dave tilts his head, a little frown having painted his cheeks. This means a whole lot more now he’s realised he’s deeply in love.

“Yeah. I, uh. I gotta cat-sit for the lady upstairs. She needs fed, and by the time I’m down it’ll be too late to come back.” He says, brows furrowed. Dave’s body seems to hang dejectedly, almost as if he needs to be picked up and put on the coat rack next to them. “I really wanna stay, I do... but I just. Can’t. But I’ll be over first thing tomorrow. First bus over, I’ll be here... save the frog, will you?”

“Of course I will, I want you to see the look on his face, I’ll. Maybe we can save all the presents, or the big ones, until you get here?”

“If you wanna.” He can’t help but smile; he’s actually really touched by that.

He hugs Dave tight for a few moments, and runs his hands through his soft curly hair. Dave cherishes the attention, rubbing his forehead against Frank’s shoulder. Still he has to get home to his responsibilities before the cat eats something it shouldn’t.

Sitting on the floor of his duplex-mate’s kitchen (and he never knew how strange it would be to enter a reverse of his own house, not like he hasn’t been here before, but it packs a different energy when he’s alone at night) he pens a desperate message to Dave. He _is_ desperate.

dave i love you, i can’t hold it in any longer you are the light in my day and sometimes the only thing that keeps me going and by god do i love you and i wish i could be yours, i wish more than anything you would be mine because every morning i wake up and think of you and i would treat you like a king and i would keep you safe because you deserve it so much and you don’t even know you do and i know someone has hurt you and i swear on my life i would never hurt you   
  


But he doesn’t send it. He can’t bring himself to. He looks over at the beautiful, fluffy ragdoll nuzzling in to his shirtsleeve and puts his phone down.

“What am I gonna do about him, huh?” He asks. Venting frustration to a cat, a new low for him. She mewls in response, her mismatched eyes twinkling in the light. “I just can’t get him out of my head, Jennie. I think I _actually_ love him. Like, not a crush, but. Actually being in love.”

She purrs as he strokes her gently. He slowly deletes the message with his remaining hand in the paranoia it will somehow send during the night and Dave will know how. Strangely desperate he is. Now he’s thought it over it just feels a little... childish, is the right word, and he knows he has more dignity than that.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone this much and it’s. Fuckin’ difficult, I’ll tell you that. I guess you’ll never have to deal with anything like that. You just waltz around, getting some poor shmuck to feed you whenever you feel like it. I mean, you’re cute, it works.” 

He smiles at her, and she makes a strange noise analogous to purring. She jumps up in to his lap and lets him scratch the long white fur poking from behind her ear. 

“I don’t know. Do I tell him? Does he. Am I good enough for him? Am I in his league? I don’t know.” He admits to himself. “I’m not as smooth as I think I am, huh? Maybe I should ask him out, I don’t know - I’ve never asked anyone out before, I’m always the one that gets asked out. How do you tell someone you love them? Isn’t it. Creepy? We know each other really well, yeah, but. But that’s just friendship, isn’t it? I’m scared he wouldn’t understand what I was trying to say to him.”

He goes to bed eventually, and Jennie - who, he realises, probably found food somewhere else - follows him, curls up in his arms because she knows he’ll scratch behind her ear. It definitely helps, since he’s gotten so used to sleeping with Dave. He finds himself feeling barren and lonely without someone to cuddle and lumping his blanket in to a vaguely Dave- shaped mass doesn’t work. It doesn’t pack the same punch, it lacks heartbeat or warmth or the deepness of his breaths or _soul._ He knows he has to fix it, he’s going to have to tell Dave he loves him because they can’t stay in this love-limbo forever. Why has he always been so confident until now? Why doesn’t a ‘go-getter,’ a ‘ladies man,’ like him go to the man he loves and tell him how he feels? Why does he lay awake, craving the softness of Dave’s skin, the way his tender, warm body rests perfectly in his arms?

When he wakes up Jennie is gone, her long, slightly frizzled hair in her wake. She found her way out during the night, and had munched on some scraps of ham Frank had left on the counter when he’d been making sandwiches the day before. He winces for a moment before remembering the time he’d seen her eat an old, dead caterpillar. She’ll be fine.

He gets dressed, and makes his way to Hal’s apartment, practically sprinting because he can’t wait to see Dave or Ash. When he does, he practically flies in to Dave’s arms and pulls him close and tight, relishing in the way Dave fits there so well as if they’ve never hugged before - or it’s been years since they have. It’s loud with Ash giggling over whatever he’s playing with.

“Morning.” Frank gently runs a thumb down Dave’s cheek, and lets himself be kissed on the nose. “How is he?”

“Really likes his stacking rings. But it’s froggy time.” Dave smiles, and picks up the bag. “You wanna take this to him?” 

“Uh, yeah, but. How are you? You look tired.” Frank soothes, noticing the growing bags under Dave’s beautiful eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He looks up through his thick bunches of lashes, eyes still as strikingly blue as ever. “Real tired, though, you’re right. He had a bad dream, he needed comforting.”

“Well. I’ll take him for an hour or two later so you can get some shut eye.” 

“Okay, thank you.” Dave’s face seems to light up in a way it hasn’t before, it softens in to the slightest love-filled smile he only uses with Ash. Frank takes the bag from him, completed with a bow, and he goes to kneel by Ash and his stacking rings. Hal is making breakfast, and Avni is helping him by standing in the kitchen and telling him what to do, step by step. He already knows, but he likes the reassurance. Dave comes to sit on the couch in front, so he can see his son’s face.

“Good morning, birthday boy.” Frank smiles, and Ash looks up. “I got you something for your birthday, do you wanna open it?” Ash nods, and Frank hands him the bag. He looks confused. “Just pull on the ribbon, okay?”

Ash pulls, and the bag falls open. He then understands what to do, and he reaches inside and pulls the frog out.

“Oh! Froggy!” Ash yelps, pulling it close to his chest. 

“Yeah! He’s a friend.” Frank explains, as Ash crawls in to his lap with the frog. He holds it close and buries his face in to it; as he does, it lights up, and Ash is transfixed. Dave seems to be melting on the couch, caught up in affection and love. “And he sings songs, too.”

“Thank you, Frankie.” His voice is muffled by the soft frog, but it’s chirpy and happy all the same. “Love you.”

“Aw, I love you too.” Frank says softly. Dave’s heart thumps in his chest, and hard. Frank would be _such_ a good dad, especially to his baby. “You like him?”

“Yeah!” Ash nods, still not having removed his face from the frog’s. “Best friend.”

“He’s your best friend?” Frank asks, cuddling the child in his lap. “Already? Aww...”

“Okay, Ashie, do you want your big present now?” Dave asks, readying a large box with a bow. 

Frank blushes; Dave tries so hard to be the best father he can. He tries to put something special in to Ash’s childhood with everything he does. It’s partially sweet, and partially sad. What kind of childhood has he had to exhaust himself like this? Frank knows he wasn’t up all night comforting Ash (maybe it isn’t all a lie, Ash has nightmares every now and then, but he tends to sleep just fine with a toddler), he was making all _this_. These hand-tied bows weren’t here when Frank left, and the beautifully frosted cake on top of the cupboard wasn’t finished off with shimmering sparklers, and Dave wasn’t this tired, either.

The boy nods, and stays in Frank’s lap as Dave comes to him with the box. Hal’s anxiously watching with his breakfast sandwich perched in his hands. “You just pull on the ribbon, baby.”

Ash pulls on the ribbon, pulls the top off the box and stares at the prosthesis inside. He’s not sure what to make of it, his head tilts sideways in confusion. 

“It’s gonna help you walk. Do you wanna try it on?” Dave suggests. Ash looks around shiftily before deciding to nod. Frank holds him while Dave fits the prosthesis on to his little boy’s leg. It fits like a glove, and it’s bright blue. Ash stares at it in strange recognition, as he sees himself with two legs for the first time. “Okay, how does that feel? Is that comfortable?”

Ash doesn’t seem very bothered by it, so Dave takes it as a ‘comfortable.’ He hoists himself up using his cane, and then takes Ash’s hands in to his own and lifts him up so he can stand on two feet for the first time. 

“Oh.” Ash says, looking down at his new leg. He’s really not sure what to think of it. It’s there, sure, but it doesn’t really mean much to him. His right leg bows outward a little under the extra weight, having never been used like this before, until Dave tilts him a little and helps him shift his weight on to the prosthesis. He sits himself down.

“Do you not wanna walk?” Dave asks him, soft though a little dejected. “That’s okay, we’re gonna go see the doctor later. He can help you do it better than I can; do you want me to take it off?”

Ash shakes his head, running his hands over his new leg. Dave picks him up again, putting him on the couch. 

“Frankie?” Ash tilts his head, and holds his frog up. He points over to the tank in the corner. “Fishies.”

“Yeah!” Frank nods in response. “Do you like the fishies? You wanna go look at them with me?”

“Yeah.” Ash confirms, and starts to shuffle along the ground. He notices it’s harder in the leg, but gets on with it. Frank follows him, and Hal brings another breakfast sandwich over to Frank with a smile.

Dave watches, heart thumping as Ash, Frank, and Hal talk about the fish. He could be there, leaning his head in to Frank’s shoulder, his baby on his lap, talking idly about colourful fins and patterns and swaying plants.

“What’s going on, Dave?” Avni says, raising an eyebrow. Dave’s not sure when she ended up sitting next to him, but she is there. “You’d normally be over there, there’s something happening in that little mind of yours.”

“Can we talk in private?” He requests, and thankfully she nods.

In the bathroom, Avni stands leant against the door, and Dave sits up on the sink top. She locks it, and he’s reminded of being a teenager babbling out his issues to her. Watching her eyes widen as he churns out what Betty’s done to him. The horror on her face is burned deep in to his mind despite the fact she did everything in her power to keep stoic. His lips tremble just thinking about how desperate he was in those moments; not that he’s desperate now because he’s _not_. Even though the situation is the same, where she has noticed something is wrong, it’s not. It’s not the same, and he has to remind himself of that. 

“Okay, what’s the matter?”

“I’m in love with Frank.” He says in a hot rush. “I’m really, really in love with him, I don’t know what to do about it. He’s just. He’s perfect.” 

She sighs, and raises her eyebrows. “I guessed as much. Are you ready?”

He forgets how much she knows about him, how much he told her during his tumultuous teen years. There are more than one reasons for Hal being just like his brother and Avni is certainly one of them. He rubs at his arms, and bites his lip because he doesn’t have an answer to her question. 

“I don’t know. I’m not. I’m not better and I don’t want to mess it up by being. Me.” He admits, and her eyes give him the signal she’s listening to him. They don’t have that same sadness they did, the one he is remembering that makes shivers crawl down his spine. It helps him open up again. “But at the same time, I know he’ll comfort me, and he’ll be there for me... it’s really difficult. Because I think I’m ready but I know all my problems aren’t ironed out yet, but I don’t think I can wait any longer. I want to tell him, I want him. To be my boyfriend.”

“Do you think he’d accept those problems? You may be ready for a relationship but he has to know what’s wrong, Dave. He needs to know, especially what happened with _you know who._ Could you tell him?” 

“I.” It stumps him, and he stutters and goes silent entirely. “He’d think less of me.”

“Well, I don’t know him well enough to back you up on that or tell you otherwise. But I certainly do not think less of you, and neither does Hal, but Hal speaks highly of him so I don’t see _why_ he would.” She puts an arm around his shoulder, and sighs deeply again. “Of course, you wouldn’t have to tell him right away. You don’t tell a man you that you love him and then unload your life story on to him. But as the relationship progresses, you’ll have to. After all, how can he trust you if you can’t trust him?”

“So what you’re saying is. I need to be able to tell him.”

“Not now, but eventually. Could you?” She asks. “You need to be entirely honest with yourself; could you tell him? Can you see yourself opening up with him like that? Do you think you could trust him with that?”

He really has to think about that, and he imagines it slowly. How he would be able to open his lips and speak openly about what happened to him. It would take a while, but he could say it. He can see Frank listening to him, tilting his head, wiping his tears away when it all got too much and comforting him. Or maybe the whole thing comes out in some sort of slippery rush that shocks him, but nonetheless he comes closer and his body greets Dave with the softest hug and the most gentle, loving kiss. It feels uncomfortable but it doesn’t feel unreasonable. It feels like something that could happen between them, not some daydream forty miles above his head. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that could happen.” It feels like a weight off his chest just admitting it. Avni seems pleased, at the very least.

“Well, there you have your answer. You tell him.” She smiles. “Well. Perhaps don’t tell him, but ask him to go on a date with you, start things slow.”

“We already. Sleep in the same bed sometimes, we like cuddling up, and I. Have kissed his nose.”

“You’re romanticising.” She says slowly. “You think you’re just going to. Waltz up to him and tell him you love him, and for him to be your boyfriend in an instant, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” He admits sheepishly, clasping his hands over his chest.

“Things don’t always go like that, Dave. You know that.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “If you really love him, you won’t rush in to it; you know how that ends up for you.”

“I hate the fact you’re right.” He rubs an arm. “But it’s probably for the best, taking it slow. And figuring it all out, if I’m really in love with him.”

“You’ll find out, sweetheart.” Avni pulls him in tight. Dave’s the cuddliest of all her children. She’s known him so long she forgets he’s so young. “But he seems like a lovely person, Hal certainly says so, and I’m sure he will love you and treat you with respect when you’re in a relationship.”

“Yeah. Okay, thank you.”

Back in the living room, Frank, Ash, and Hal are watching the fish swim, fluttering like butterflies through the water. Dave sits down by Frank and gets Ash to cuddle with him. 

“Having a good birthday, Ashie?” Dave asks his son, gently ruffling his hair. The boy nods, then points at the fish. That and the frog are by far his favourite gifts. “I know, you’ve got fishies! Aren’t they pretty?”

“Yeah!” Ash calls, knocking on Dave with his prosthesis. He keeps forgetting about its presence entirely, but he has noticed that other people have two feet rather than one, that now he looks more like they do. He’s not sure what to think of it. He looks at Frank, and pulls on his shirtsleeve. “I’m not baby now.”

“Yeah, you’re a big boy now.” Frank smiles, and notices Dave is leaning in to his shoulder a little. “Do you like being two?”

“Uhh... yeah.” Ash nods. “I’m big.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I found a picture of you as a really tiny baby the other day, do you wanna see?” 

Ash seems less than enthused but Frank watches eagerly as Dave points out all the photos in his thick book. Pictures of a little newborn Ash, being held by a broadly smiling Dave. He looks a lot younger, a lot more rested, but there’s more sadness behind his eyes. His skin’s been paled by the flash of the camera and Ash’s eyes seem to glow red under its influence. 1999 feels like it was so long ago now - even the pictures look better, and it’s barely been two years. Dave was only twenty, twenty one when these photos were taken. 

“See, there’s my favourite photo of you.” Dave points at a picture of tiny Ash having discovered his only foot, and gripping it with his hands, trying to fit it in to his mouth. There’s another right next to it, of Ash having found his way in to a pile of laundry and smiling. His eyes are big and his cheeks are soft and red, and his hair, though sparse, is curly and blonde. He looks a bit like a cherub. Frank knows Dave probably put him there for a cute photo, but that makes it all the more cute. The thought of Dave playing with his baby. He wishes he’d have been there to see it. “Weren’t you cute?”

Ash isn’t paying attention, and is intent on crawling away, but Frank’s interested, and he puts a finger on the top of the photo of Ash in the laundry pile. “That one, that’s adorable.”

“I always liked that one.” Dave smiles, and lets Ash stumble away to press his face up against the glass. “He loved that pile, they were all so soft and he’d just, cuddle up in there, and he’d fall asleep. It was a good way to get him to sleep, actually; he did sleep, he wouldn’t cry, but sometimes he’d just stay awake giggling or playing with his mobile and then he’d get all cranky, try and bite me.”

“You just let him sleep in a pile of washing?”

“Well, it became more ‘Ash’s sleeping pile,’ but yeah.” Dave admits. “He was so fuckin’ cute.”

“He still is.” 

“God, you’re right.” Dave laughs a little. “He is. Aren’t you, Ashie?”

“Yeah!” Ash nods, smiling. He points to himself. “Cute!”

Hal emerges from his bedroom with a cup. His head tilts. “Would any of you like some tea?” 

“Oh, yes please.” Dave nods. Ash babbles something loudly, but it’s some kind of positive response. Frank shakes his head. 

Dave’s halfway through his tea when there’s a knock at the door. He slowly makes his way over to the door to answer it. When he does, he can’t believe his eyes - it’s Kel. He slips outside, and shuts the door behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does any1 actually listen to the playlist lol. not a dog just wondering


	13. Chapter 13

_**[LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss) ** _

  
Dave can still remember having that conversation with them in bed. It was dark and the only light was the occasionally passing cars as they spoke. About the baby, the baby that would become his sweet Ash. And he had pretended to be pretty uncaring about it, just, vaguely supportive - inside, his heart had been racing, his cheeks had been red, mind screaming _yes_.

“Like. You do understand how big this is, right?” He’d asked. “No social life, no going out, just. Taking care of a kid. I... I could do it. But if you couldn’t, well, I think. I think that’s what matters more than anything - it’s about you, isn’t it? It’s your body.”

He couldn’t keep his stutter inside. He’d always wanted to have a baby; he knew he couldn’t father a child himself no matter how much he wanted to. At least not in the traditional sense. But here was an opportunity to have a child of his own, without jumping through hoop upon hoop, and he was going to take it.

“Maybe.” They’d shrugged. “I have to think about what I want to do about this. But you’d stay at home? With the kid?”

“Yeah!” He’d replied all too enthusiastically, and chided himself internally for being so. _Happy_ about it. It was essentially social suicide but he... he didn’t care, and he was excited. “Yeah, I. I would, I mean, I’m really good with kids. I like them.”

“I’m not. But between us we could probably reach some sort of arrangement.”

“I don’t want to pressure you in to anything. There are options, of course, but if. If we keep the baby, then I’ll. I’ll care for them, one hundred percent. Be a stay at home dad, y’know? But, are you ready?”

“I think so.”

There was a pause. Kel bit their lip and turned to face Dave in bed, and Dave did the same, though desperately trying to hide the excitement on his face. He managed to choke it down, and look as he normally would in bed. They put a hand on his cheek.

“You’re not mad?”

“About what?”

“Dave, I. _Cheated_ on you, let’s be real. I had sex with someone else.” They winced, but Dave didn’t falter.

“It’s just sex.” He shrugged. “I mean, I think I’d have a problem if you loved someone else - you don’t, right?”

“No, it was just a one night thing.”

“Then we don’t have a problem.” Dave slowly closed his arms over them, ran his hands through their hair.

How could he have been so stupid? Allowing them to step on him like that, to treat him like shit; he’d never said they could have sex with anyone else. But they had, and it had felt like a punch to the chest that he carefully masked as if _he_ had sired the baby, annoyedly guiding himself around that anger in order to seem soothing because in that moment he did want that baby more than he wanted to cause some kind of argument.

Now he stands in front of them, outside Hal’s apartment, two years and seven months later. Trying to keep himself together, violently biting his cheek and gripping his cane. Asserting the very little authority he has because he feels like he’s completely powerless when he’s in front of them.

“It’s his birthday, I thought I should see him.”

“Yeah, no. You’re not coming in, he doesn’t want to see you, you unsettle him, we’ve been over this.” Dave stammers, voice breaking in to a tear-threatened warble. “I have a restraining order from you, you shouldn’t be here, you have no legal right to see him, and if you don’t leave then I’m gonna call the cops.”

“You wouldn’t. You never do.” They speak as they normally would but every word has so much power over him. “Look, I just wanna see my son, Dave. It’s his birthday, just. Ten, fifteen minutes.”

“You made it _very_ clear he wasn’t your son, you know I have full custody of him and you have no visitation rights.” He clutches his arms with his hands, letting his cane fall against the wall he’s leaning his arm on. “Why didn’t you care last year, or at Christmas? Why now, why his second birthday, when all he remembers of you is being scared?”

“I just wanna see him.”

“Well, well. You’re not seeing him. I don’t want you to.”

And this is what it feels like to talk to a brick wall. It’s always been like this between them, with Dave enthusing, entrusting everything with Kel, and Kel never doing the same. He started to really notice it when Ash was a baby, though looking back it repeated itself time and time again.

He was laying awake in bed when he realised it. He was waiting to fall asleep because he knew he’d have to feed Ash soon, so he was quietly reading in the dark, with his little reading light hanging over his shoulder. Ash was a newborn, and Dave had taken up reading trashy little romance novels after realising babies didn’t do an awful lot. Stories of businessmen and gangsters having strange relationships with young women or men, depending on what he picked up. He was laying awake in the quiet darkness, but he knew Kel was awake.

“What are you doing?” They’d asked. “You’ve been tired all fuckin’ day.”

“I’m gonna feed baby soon, and then I’ll sleep.” Dave replied, flicking over a page between his fingers. “Not long now, just as soon as he starts making noise I’ll go through.”

“Oh, fine.” They turned over in bed. “Why not just wait for him to start crying? You’re exhausted, Dave, what if you dropped him?”

“I wouldn’t drop him. Plus, I want him to be a happy baby.”

“Fine, just. Do what you want.”

They turned away, and feeling shamed, he slipped his book down on to his lap, slipped headphones in to his ears and quietly played music to cosset the tears forming in the crooks of his eyes. He didn't even know why they were there; he was just trying to be a good, protective father, as he should have been. It was very much what sweet, tiny Ash deserved, and he hated the fact Kel couldn't see that.

That was when he really started to feel unhappy with them. There had been tiny niggles before, but it was becoming worse with every moment he spent with them in that bed, listening to songs about what love should be. It felt truly loveless, but at the same time he felt trapped there. He did not want to lose his little son, who he adored even if he didn't feel the same way about the lover who gave him that same son.

Some time later, he heard those little whining chirps emanating from the baby monitor, and he rose quickly to the task of feeding him. The unrest slipped away when his son was laid in his arms and drinking. He was listening to songs about what love should be, and all was right in his little world of Ash’s beautiful nursery. Their little world.

He briefly imagined, though he felt terrible about it, a world where it was just him and Ash. Where every night was as peaceful as this one, where days were spent reading those same trashy novels, and cuddling and caring for his child.

He slipped the bottle away, because Ash was done drinking, and he slung the baby over his shoulder to wind him. Gently he patted his baby’s back until he made a tiny noise of contentment, and then put him to bed, where he stretched and started to whine as Dave left.

“No, don’t you cry, don’t you cry.” Dave whispered as he lifted the baby from his crib again. “Don’t cry, baby boy. Papa’s here, papa loves you so much...”

The baby continued to fuss, and Dave sat himself in the rocking chair (inherited from someone in his own family) with him, and held the baby close to his chest as he rocked back and forth. Ash put his hand on Dave’s chest and grasped at the thin shirt covering it. His doe like eyes fluttered their pretty little eyelashes at him, and Dave was filled with calmness the longer he held that tiny child.

He could've stayed there, cradling his little boy, forever. He certainly loved Ash enough to do so, his tiny hands and beautiful eyes so prominent in Dave’s heart. He had been so close to sobbing in desperation when he came in, sobbing over the fact his love was loveless- now he was filled with the sweetest of love. The love for his sweet, sweet little son. And of course, Dave had always deeply adored his son, but at this moment he felt a special sort of love, a relief through his own body that solidified itself with that tiny hand. He felt protective, and soft, and loving, and he felt like he could be in control of everything that ailed him. It felt like him and his son against the world.

He knew at that moment that he was never going to be alone again. He never had to be. He was safe now, with his baby, and he felt it.

The baby fussed quietly again, the type of fussing that told Dave he was desperate for the sound of his papa’s voice. Dave did not hesitate in the slightest to give his baby the comfort he clearly wanted. He was stumped on what to sing at first, when he realised he had that very thing playing to him. It hadn't quite occurred to him yet, but Ash was very much a daddy's boy and he'd already showed an aptitude for Dave’s favourite music.

“ _If I live to see the seven wonders, I'll build a path to the rainbow's edge...”_

"Kel, I don't care if you want to see him. As for as he's concerned, you're out of his life. Frankly, I never want you in it again. Not after what my little boy's been through, what you put him through."

"You're overreacting."

"You brought a gun to my house. You threatened to stab me or shoot me." Dave feels a sudden wave of confidence, and he's determined to ride it. “You wouldn’t have done that if you cared remotely about his welfare.”

"That was Simon, and you know that."

"When I got the restraining order, you _admitted_ to sending him; so we both know that's bullshit." Dave bites his cheeks. They both know he's right, and it makes him feel justified, righteous, like a survivor rather than a victim.

He remembers that night so vividly. How he hid in the bathroom clutching Ash to his chest, trying to sing to him through tears, playing little games with him. Peekaboo and round and round the garden. But his son didn't laugh when he was tickled. Dave was met with a blank, apathetic stare when he revealed himself from his hands. Ash had simply been for too afraid to react; and Dave could understand that, no matter how much he wanted his baby to giggle and smile. He was caught in the notion that would fix it, make it so it wasn't real, so a heavily muscled man was not stood outside with a knife.

He keeps himself upright now because he knows he has no choice. He cannot slink down against the wall of the bathroom, baby in his arms, and sob listlessly while praying for Kel to leave. He’s made of stronger stuff now, he’s straightened up and grown older.

“I want you to go.” He affirms. “This isn’t good for Ash, you being here will unsettle him, and I don’t have to let you see him.”

“He’s my son.”

“He’s not your son, and that ship sailed a long time ago. You know that, you’re not fucking stupid.” He grabs for his cane and readies himself to leave because he won’t let them argue with him about this. His mind has been made and they won’t see him, not after what they’ve done. Being around them is unsafe; he knows that, and he doesn’t feel bad about it. Even so, tears start to bite at him again.

“I want to see him, Dave. I’m trying to become a better person.” They explain, becoming desperate. “Please, I don’t want him to look back and think badly of me, like I was never there.”

“You are never here! Even when you had visitation, you showed up three times. In two months. It was supposed to be weekly.”

“I know, but I. I’m trying, Dave, I really am, just let me see him-“

“Then talk to the fucking lawyer!” He cries, but out of anger rather than sadness. “Go, or I’m. Calling the _fucking_ cops.”

“What, are you scared he’ll love me more than you?”

Frank must hear the commotion, because he edges his way from the apartment to check on Dave. He’s never seen Kel before, not so much as a photo, but he knows exactly who it is. He takes a lot in; the way Dave is backed up against the wall, nearly in tears, the way Kel’s too close to him for comfort.

“Excuse me, what’s. Happening here?” Frank bites on his lip, and positions himself protectively behind Dave. Dave nearly sighs out in relief when he feels Franks’s comforting presence behind him. It’s almost like that night in Ash’s nursery, when he knew he was going to be safe.

“This isn’t any of your business, can you just leave us to it? This is about our kid.”

“You mean Dave’s kid?” He raises an eyebrow. Their eyes contort in to a glare, but he tries not to be fazed by it, instead concentrating on his own leer. He’s always thought he would protect Dave should this ever happen, but now he’s starting to doubt himself. Despite the fact he’s a foot taller than them he feels dwarfed by their presence.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but you don’t know the whole situation and you don’t need to get involved.” They shake their head. “Thank you, goodbye.”

“Except I do know the situation, and I know you’re very much not supposed to be here.”

“Whatever the hell he’s told you, that’s not the whole story.”

“Actually, I know you have a restraining order, and you don’t have any visitation rights.” Frank raises an eyebrow, and folds his arms over. “You and Dave have a complete ‘no-contact’ order between you and Ash is very much included in that - if you fail to leave then we are going to call the cops, you will be in violation of that order, and you will possibly be arrested and then prosecuted for doing so.”

“You’d need proof.”

Frank points just behind him, to a security camera in direct line of sight. He didn’t expect it to be there, but thank god he noticed it.

“I think it’s right there. If you leave now, and you don’t come back, then I think we could hold off telling on you. Else, we’ve got all the proof we need for a trial, really. As we can see on the camera, you were here, you’ve distressed Dave, you’ve nearly unsettled Ash. So I think you should go.”

Begrudgingly, they leave, arms folded. Frank slowly brings Dave to his bedroom, and as soon as they’re safe there, he hugs him tightly and gently rocks him from side to side. Dave hugs back, losing his gripping hand in Frank’s hair. He tries not to try, he really does, but a few sobs escape in to Frank’s shoulder.

“Oh, Dave, it’s alright...” Frank whispers. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve. I’m here. I’m here, and I’ve got you, and. And I’m gonna protect you from them, okay? I’ve got you.”

Dave looks up from beneath his sodden lashes at the man who is patiently, lovingly holding him. Who is caring for him despite all the bullshit, who had his back when Kel had him cornered. He’s loving, and caring, and accepting, and it would be so _fucking_ stupid of him to suck that feeling down.

“I love you.” Dave says softly, and it feels like his chest is set free from the chains that have bound it for weeks. “I really do.”

Frank gasps, because he didn’t expect to hear those words escape his lips. He is deathly silent because he doesn’t know what to do, as much as he loves Dave; he’s not prepared anything, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know _how_ to love all of a sudden, even though he thinks he’s confident, he thinks he is strong, but right now all he can do is be silent and try and find some sort of way to tell Dave ’ _I love you too’_ because the words don’t want to spill. He’s not sure how to say them in a way that will make Dave understand just how much he loves him, but he feels them coming to his chest against his will.

“I love you too, Dave.” He says softly, because he knows it’s a start. “I love you so much.”

The words have barely left his lips, but Frank doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s finally said it, he’s told the man of his dreams he loves him. Gently as he can, he lifts his hand to Dave’s cheek, he brings his thumb under his eye and brushes away the tear there. His lips curl up in to a smile. Dave takes Frank’s face in to his hands, cupping his jaw. It’s warm between them and Frank’s heart is racing and neither of them know what to say to each other but it’s there. They are in love with one another, and it’s out now, and it’s always been so obvious that they were, chasing one another, loving one another from a distance.

“Here, let me-“ Frank pulls a tissue from his pocket, and dabs at Dave’s eyes. “It’s okay. I think we both knew this was coming.” He’s lying. He didn’t. But he wants to sound confident and it’s about all he can do to do so. Dave doesn’t care even though he sees through it.

“God damn it, I just. Oh. I _love_ you.” Dave cries softly.

“I think we should talk about this, later maybe? We got a. Birthday party for your little boy to go back to.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Dave smiles, and Frank can’t help but pull him in closer.


	14. Chapter 14

**_[LINK TO THE PLAYLIST!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlQHmaLV_3bJ_21SSSX9ghcQvh8z69qss) _ **

**_  
{CW for suicide mention and Dave Trauma this is gonna become a common fuck king theme <3 plus a litto sex reference and a couple mentions of emeto stuff though nothing in depth}_ **   
****_{also I know nothing about the geography of Urbana and despite my realism and endless research I cannot be fucked to look so just take it.}_

Laying together does feel different now. A lot different, and it takes Dave a while to acclimatise when Frank is curled over his form exactly the way he normally would. There’s a strange emptiness in his chest, and each of his breaths seem to be too slow, as if every second is cycling faster in his mind.

“Dave?” Frank whispers. “How’s this?” Time slows a moment as he speaks. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m just tired.” He sighs out. “I’m gonna feel better in the morning.”

“It’s been a long day.” Frank smiles, in that soft reassuring tone of his. “This is nice, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. This is good.” He looks back. He’s telling the truth, it *does* feel nice. Frank’s body fits around him really well, and he feels safe and calm outwardly. There is no yearning rippling across his shoulders or his back. He knows he’s safe there, that Frank will protect and care for him.

“Oh, good.” Frank sighs out with a tone of soft, calming relief. “Can I. Can I kiss you? Maybe, maybe on your. Your shoulder, or. Wherever you want to be kissed.”

“Um. Actually, I don’t think I want one.” Dave admits, partially to test the waters and partially to admit to himself he’s ever so slightly uncomfortable. 

“Oh, okay. Well, goodnight.” Is his simple response, and there’s not a hint of upset in his voice. In fact, it’s said with a smile and a slight nuzzle, to show love.

Then, silence. Not completely so. Ash is snoring softly, and Frank is breathing quietly behind him but it is deathly, eerily silent and Dave despises it. These sounds would normally comfort him, normally help him drift off, but it feels amiss now, he feels like he’s been caught in some kind of strange reality where things are reciprocal to the way they are in the one he remembers. He knows such a thing can’t be true but he’s scared it might be. He knows that’s the trauma talking. He knows such a thing cannot possibly be real. He is still exactly where he should be but everything is different, it’s not the way he remembers. Is he disassociating? Is this because of Kel appearing, or is it because he’s exhausted, or is it because Frank knows he loves him? Because they’ve finally admitted they’re more than friends, and the way Dave’s been fucked up makes him feel fucking _uncomfortable_ loving someone, letting them hold him and snuggle him and kiss him. It’s especially fucked because that’s how he wanted to be with Frank. He does. He does want to be held and snuggled and kissed. Fussed over. Cared about. And he knows Frank would give him that, he knows Frank wants to love him. He knows he wants to love Frank but there’s some repulsion in his body that stops him, draws him back from everything he wants for no apparent reason and it makes him feel sick.

 _I love Frank_ , he tells himself. _I love Frank and I want to love him and I want to make it work between us._

Does he? Maybe. Maybe he loves Frank. Or is it just lust? Is it his fucked up little psyche latching on to the first person that seemed to care? Will he find some fatal flaw in Frank he hates over time, be forced to live with it for the rest of his life because he doesn’t want to break Frank’s heart? Will Frank find some kind of flaw in him and Dave’ll find him in their bed with another man? Will they slowly drift apart and wake up in forty years time, not knowing what they’ve done with their lives because they resigned themselves too early? These are questions that Dave does not have an answer to. He wants Frank to be his forever person. He would love it. But it has to be puppy love. It has to be the honeymoon period. It’s all going to fall apart piece by piece and Dave knows already he’s not strong enough to do a thing about it. Not after Kel. Not after _Betty_ , for fuck’s sake, because he knows she’s the root of all of this. He knows this is not an issue with him - this relationship could last a week, a year, ten years, forever - but this is _poisoning_ it from the inside. If he doesn’t do anything about it, about what she did, he’s scared this’ll all break down in to bits and he’ll never love again.

And on another note he’s twenty three years old, there are people he wants to date, there are people he wants to fuck; is Frank really his forever person? He sure as hell wants it. He can see himself waking up at seventy with Frank by his side and he’s frankly fucking terrified it won’t come to fruition. Even then, there are experiences he still wants that Frank could never give him, and he doesn’t know what would happen if he chose to explore those. Would Frank wait for him to be ready, or does he want it all now, straight down the path to blissful, perfect suburban marriage and awkward family portraits, Christmas sweaters, and a trophy husband choked by normalcy and doped up on antidepressant after antidepressant until he finally kills himself, shocks the PTA, and leaves his two and a half kids permanently traumatised?

And why can’t he just. Enjoy things? Love the man he loves, and be happy where he is after finally having the guts to tell him. He is cuddling Frank, who’s nearer to a boyfriend now than he ever has been. It’s real. Yesterday, he’d have given away his left arm for this to happen. He tries to focus on how Frank feels. He’s warm. He’s protectively huddled around Dave, he’s smiling slightly and Dave can feel that crescent against his shoulder. Dave’s at ease there. He thinks that to himself but he really is, he feels safe and warm and calm. How he used to feel with all his old boyfriends, but so much better. All their good qualities without the halitosis or the stench or the sweat or the sexual advances. The pressure around his back, and the warmth in his chest, the blush in his cheeks. He remembers these things, and allows himself to smile. He is happy here in this moment and that is all that has to matter to him. He’s not in school anymore and he can take things like this slowly if he wants. And what’s better - he knows Frank will respect that, appreciate that and take it slowly too. That makes the idea of this whole thing so much less scary.

“Uh - before you sleep, can I. Ask you something?” Frank breaks the silence and Dave’s thankful for it.

“Yeah?” 

“Do you wanna go on a date?” Frank tilts his head. “I mean. You don’t have to come on a date with me, I just thought it might be nice for us to, spend some time. Alone together.”

“Yeah, I’d like to go on a date.” Dave smiles. “When, and where?”

“Um! Tomorrow? Not today, cause it’s late, you have. Work. But tomorrow we can go on a date.”

“Okay, and what do you have in mind, huh?” Dave looks over and smirks, knowing Frank’s plotting something sweetly nefarious. 

“It’s a surprise.” Is Frank’s soft response. “Just be ready at six, and I will take you on a date.” 

••

Date. Dates require you to look pretty and presentable. Dave’s washed his hair and dried it and dressed his curls. He’s brushed his teeth twice and ironed his Hawaiian shirt and even tried to press his trousers, and he’s shined his loafers and scrubbed down the rubber stopper on his cane. He’s wearing _matching socks_. Definitely clean and smart-looking - he thinks, and the thinking’s making him anxious.

“Don’t sweat it, Dave. He’s not going to take you anywhere fancy. This is Frank we’re talking about.” Hal says, somewhat cynically, as Dave fusses with his earrings. He’s trying to decide whether to go with gold or silver; both tiny hoops that don’t make much of a difference. “You look _fine_. Just have fun, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on a date?”

“I. Yeah, yeah. You’re right.” Dave whips around. “Thank you for looking after Ash for me, though, that’s a big weight off my chest.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” Hal says, with more of a smile than he’s used to. “This is exciting. Frank a good guy, and I’m sure he has something fun in mind for you tonight.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Dave smiles, and Hal hugs him. He cuddles back. “He’s a good guy, he’s good with kids, he seems to just be really loving.”

“And I’m happy for you.” Hal ruffles his hair. “If I’m completely honest, Frank is the first person I’ve thought could. Well, actually treat you well. You have terrible taste in men, you always have, but you might be on to something here.”

“Oh, stop it!” Dave laughs. “Besides, I know I have horrible taste in men. Worse in women. But he makes me happy, y’know? I _do_ think I’m on to something.”

“Don’t be so sappy.” Hal chides. “Anyway, he should be here soon - do you maybe want to put Ash to bed? He sleeps better when he’s had a hug from his papa.”

Hal’s now skilled in the art of caring for Ash, and had learned over the past few weeks how to put him to bed properly, and more importantly to keep him asleep. It generally involves Dave’s cardigan and a bottle of warm milk, then to stay in the room until he falls asleep. 

“Uh, yeah. I’ll put him to bed now.” Dave smiles. “Ash? Ash, honey?” 

He’s sat in the living room, playing with his frog in front of the fish. He shows a fish floating by the glass the frog, as if it will give him some kind words for choosing to share the frog with it, but no words come and he looks duly upset. Dave lowers himself on to the bean bag next to him, and offers him a hug. Ash magnetises to him, just like he always does. Finally, Ash tries to show the frog to Dave by thrusting it in his face. He is trying to be sweet and kind. Dave finds it such.

“You look tired, baby boy.” Dave says softly. “I think it might be night night time. You wanna go to bed?”

He shakes his head in to Dave’s shoulder, but he’s clearly very tired. His eyes are shutting already, and he doesn’t protest as Dave starts to brush through his hair, the soft blonde curls puffing up with every painstakingly gentle stroke. When he’s tucked in warm with his frog, covered in his hill of blankets, he looks like a cherub, golden ringlets and all. He’s halfway to sleep but Dave kisses his tiny nose all the same, and stays with him until he’s sure his son’s sound asleep.

Then, there’s a knock at the door, and Frank’s there in a tank top and cargo shorts, with a small ménage of colourful flowers clenched in his hands.

“Hi.” He smiles, and hands the flowers over. 

“Thank you!” They have no smell but the petals are delicate and beautiful, and Dave smiles at the sight of them. He’s flattered. He wishes he’d bought something for Frank but he didn’t know it was that sort of occasion. 

“You look. Um. Really, really handsome. I like your hair.”

“What’s with the anxiety?” Dave soothes. “It’s only me - why don’t I get you some lemonade? You look all hot.” 

“Yeah, good idea. It’s real hot out there.” He nods. Dave pours it out for him, and he guzzles it down. When he’s finished he seems a lot calmer, and Dave smiles back happy he’s fixed it. “Thanks.”

“Am I. Over, or under dressed? For wherever we’re going, that is. Because I don’t actually know, but I am excited. Definitely.” Dave enthuses softly.

“Yeah, you’re fine as long as you’ve got sunscreen on.” Frank says back, peering at the sunburn freckles on Dave’s arms.

“So we’re outside?” Dave tilts his head, a grin starting to grow on his cheeks.

“Shit, I’ve said too much!” Frank cries out, though quietly. He knows Ash is asleep, and it returns to normal as a tide of attraction waves over Dave. “You do look gorgeous, though.”

“Oh, _stop_.” He giggles.

“Okay... let’s go.” Frank offers a hand. “And _I’m_ driving.”

“Of course.” Dave can’t stop himself from smiling, as he gingerly puts his hand in Frank’s. It’s so warm, and strong, and overpowering. Never mind the slight callouses or roughness of them, because he doesn’t care. His hand is in Frank’s, and just knowing that sends electric barrelling up his spine. 

The car ride isn’t much. They talk along the way, as the car makes an easy meal of the roads to just south of town, where the endless facades of buildings fall away, and it is soft-shouldered open road, edged with pale greens and mountain flowers. Dave has always liked it here, and in the car his sinuses do not scream out from pollen exhaustion. He looks over towards Frank, who’s focused on the road ahead but more relaxed than Dave has ever seen him behind the wheel.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Frank says suddenly, but it’s not jarring. His eyes motion to the pastel yellows, reds, and oranges that are scattered across the soft green curves of the landscape. He’s right. It is. Dave nods softly in agreement. “When I moved to Urbana, just after I finished law school, I used to come here all the time. I would make flower crowns and just lay in the sun with them on. Never brought anyone with me, it was just my special place, for me. Me and a couple of sandwiches.”

“Is this where we’re going?”

“No, actually. I’m taking you somewhere else, but. Would you like to come here? I didn’t. I was kinda worried you had hayfever.”

“I do.” Dave laughs, but then his face softens. “But it’s not that bad, I just like warning so I can take an antihistamine, then I’m fine.”

“Well I’ll take you there. And bring some antihistamines.”

“I’d like that.” He smiles, and then pauses. “Can you give me the _tiniest_ indication as to where we’re going?”

“I don’t wanna tell you.” He shakes his head, but he’s bashfully smiling. “It’s a surprise! And I promise you’ll like it. Really.”

“Okay, okay. Fine. I’m gonna trust you on this.” Dave sighs, vowing to shut up about it. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever really been on a proper date before. It’s just kinda been - hey, I think you’re cute, and then just automatically resigning to them.” 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Luckily for you, you’ve got perhaps the best dater in the world to show you how it’s done.” He smiles. “There is only one thing that can make this better and _that_ is shitty love songs.”

He reaches in to the glovebox and pulls out a small cassette that he stuffs in to the player, then hits the first song. Quiet ambient synth starts to fill the car, supplemented by the droning vocals of a twenty-something writing songs for sympathy blowjobs. It’s delightfully cheesy, but what’s even better is just how in his element Frank is. He’s _thriving_ and Dave thinks it’s sweet. He smiles and sidles his hand over to Frank’s.

Frank takes him to a parking lot that’s so bustling that Dave has no clue what it leads to, or what it might be for. He takes Frank’s hand tight in his, and allows himself to be led step by step. It’s so loud there that he doesn’t register the way his cane clicks on the ground - in fact, he doesn’t even remember he’s using it for a moment. Frank pushes his way through the crowd and shows Dave the objective of their date with a swish of his hands; the carnival. And he’d been right about Dave liking it too, because he’s always loved the carnival.

From the vantage point of the parking lot, there’s an aerial view of the fair, encapsulating games and food stalls, stores of tiny tatty trinkets, an old arcade covered only by tarp and thick upright barge poles, and rickety rides aplenty. Dave can’t help but smile at it, like he can’t help himself to lately. He has missed this for so long. When he thinks about it, he realises that he hasn’t come to a fair since before Bobby died, but the thought of him doesn’t fill him with dread and sadness. He’s actually more focused on being fourteen again and there with his big, worldly brother.

“How did you know?”

“Floridians are big on this kind of thing.” Frank shrugs. “Also, it’s because I am literally the best at dates.”

“That you might be.” Dave holds Frank’s hand tight as they begin to climb down a flight of rickety, almost sandy steps. Frank helps balance his date with his strong, affirming hands, though Dave only descends with the difficulty he normally would. He appreciates it nonetheless, glad Frank would go to such lengths to ensure he got down safely. Plus, there’s no chance of them falling; Frank has enough balance and strength for the both of them.

“Okay, where do you wanna go first? I’ve been practicing my winning-rigged-games throws, but we could get some dessert. Or go on some rides. Generally, I have the food after I get on the rides because my brother used to throw up and I just kinda stuck with that.” 

“Well, what do you wanna do?” Dave asks, taking in the familiar scent of grease and hot sugar and mustard. It dwarfs him and reminds him of illicit childhood outings to a place just like this. “Damn, I haven’t been to the fair in such a long time. I’ve missed it.”

“Have you ever brought Ash? He might like it. If you brought him in the middle of the week when it was quiet.”

“Y’know what, he might like it.” Dave nods, having never really considered it himself. “He really likes things like this, and sweet things, though he’s a bit too short for a lot of the rides... Maybe when he can walk?” 

“Yeah!” Frank enthuses. “Okay, so where first?”

“Let’s do what you do.”

••

Games, then rides, and then food. They’ve both always done it that way; Frank’s brother would throw up if he ate before a ride and Bobby would normally try and cordon Dave away with food because they’d get in trouble if their father checked on them and they weren’t there. A _lot_ of trouble, even if he knew they were just boys being boys, sneaking out to the carnival late at night to go on rides their parents wouldn’t let them, eat as much sugar as they could dream of. But Dave’s not looking back on the wistful bygone days of getting hurled up through the window by his brother with sadness. Those memories of him as a child are for once comforting and soothing. They mean something different to him, now that he is with Frank and _enjoying_ himself. Yes, Bobby is dead, and being on a date doesn’t fix that. But it... it doesn’t matter that he died because the memories are still happy - Bobby still existed even if he doesn’t now. Until now, Dave has forgotten to keep that in his sight.

“Aw, fuck!” Frank cries out, holding a half-eaten corndog slathered in mustard in his hand. “We forgot about the fuckin’ ferris wheel. That was my shit when I was a kid.”

“But the ferris wheel is _boring_.” Dave teases, sluggishly making his way through a trough of the saltiest fries he’s ever tasted. “It just takes you up and down.”

“Yeah, but it was funny because it made my brother throw up. He always snuck candy and he went _green_ and I pretended not to know a thing.” He whines, taking another bite. His teeth hit the stick and he cringes at the sudden taste of wood in his mouth. Dave raises an eyebrow at him. “No. Dave. He went green. Like, _actually_ green. Plus, my parents wouldn’t let me go on the fun dangerous rides until I was like fifteen.”

“Do you wanna go on it?” Dave tilts his head. “I mean, it’s only a ferris wheel and I’m not scared of heights, I don’t throw up. So we’ll be good.” 

Dave finishes his trough of fries in the line, as well as taking a bite of Frank’s corndog, mostly because he forgets _constantly_ just how southern he is. They let someone in front of them just so they can have the yellow cart - which, of course, means nothing, save that they’re in the cart with the yellow roof. For the low price of just two tokens per head (and the operator of the ride is cocky enough to demand their giant bear pay as well, which they begrudgingly cough up from their dwindling token supply) they get to load themselves on to a rickety, rusty iron cart with no windows and uncomfortable seats made of crackling leather and what feels like cardboard. It’s probably asbestos. They’re squished by the bear so they decide to make him sit at the other side with Dave’s cane and the candy, and the wheel juts in to action, lifting them up just enough to get someone else on.

“Oh, look at them!” Dave hisses and smiles, pointing at the couple loading on to the cart below. “They look like your brother!”

Much to Frank’s delight, they are a bit green, and he laughs out audibly. Thankfully, they’re sat facing away from them both and don’t hear their laughter, even if it’s just a harmless schoolboy giggle. As the cart ascends further from the ground, Frank decides to feign a yawn and slip an arm around Dave.

“Oh, I see how it is.” Dave raises an eyebrow, but leans in to him all the same. He’s getting slightly cold; the sun’s setting and the wheel’s raising above the hill, the wind’s starting to hit. He’s wishing he’d brought his scarf, or a cardigan, but he didn’t and this is an excuse to get close to Frank. He will take it.

“Just getting comfortable.” Frank smiles, mischievously. Mostly because he knows Dave’s in to it too and he’s thankful for it. It wasn’t even a calculated risk, it wasn’t even a _risk_.

“‘Oh, you’ll be fine with just _sunscreen_ , Dave...’ was this your plan all along? You wanted me to get all cosy with you on a ferris wheel?” Dave chides, but it’s full of love. 

“Yeah, and it’s working.” Is Frank’s confident, almost lovingly cocky response. “You _are_ cosy with me.”

“Fine, you win.” Dave smiles, and allows himself to get cosier. “You are pretty warm, it’ll do.”

Frank laughs, and his eyes drift sunwards to the beautifully banded sunset. The music and noise of the carnival is fading away, it’s just them and the rocking cart and the wind, but even that is dwarfed by Dave’s soft smile and cheeks, his striking blue eyes, batting eyelashes and mounds of soft chestnut curls. “It’s really beautiful up here, huh?”

Dave looks to the side of the cart, still resting his head against Frank’s shoulder, and smiles at the sight of rolling hills and the vivid hues of orange and red and yellow and purple in front of him. The bright, red sun, and the soft banding clouds that tumble just behind the beautiful green hills. The moon threatens to spill over the horizon. It is every word for beautiful - so many that he can’t attempt to list them, he can’t attempt to describe the way _t_ _his_ makes him feel. It’s not just the sunset, but it’s Frank. It’s Frank, the softness of his shoulder, his suave cajoling and the way he handles everything so smoothly. He hasn’t been worried at all tonight, even though he’s worried all the time about everything he’s not here. He’s escaping from the stress of being a single father, and the stress of being disabled and mentally ill and having medical bills to pay and meds to take. It doesn’t matter here, with Frank, and it doesn’t have to. He hasn’t had a reason to worry since he stepped out the house holding his hand.

He’d say it again. He’d say ‘I love you’ here and now if he could, if he had the guts to admit that. Because he’s sure, even though he’s been treated badly by people he has loved, that this is love or close to it. That if this isn’t love now it is going to be _love_ , plain and simple. He says it in his head. I love you. _I love you, Frank Poole, and everything you are._

“It is.” Is all he says instead. 

He makes a mistake in wistfully looking down at the carnival below, and he instantly feels sick. Goes green, as it were, and starts to panic. His hands become sweaty and his stomach lurches forwards. He doesn’t know what to do - he doesn’t want to be sick in front of Frank, not when they’re spending such a special moment together. Sickness turns to a ball of anxiety in his chest, and Frank very gently lifts him up and turns him away from the landscapes, helps him focus on anything else. Frank takes his cheek in his hand softly, and smiles. He’s instantly at ease, but Frank’s voice grounds him further.

“Hey. _Hey_ , it’s alright. Just look at me. Just focus on me. You’re not gonna be sick.” Frank smiles. He doesn’t judge at all, even as Dave smiles, embarrassed. He is so gentle, and ever so kind. “You’re okay.”

The cart raises again, and they naturally grow closer to one another, faces nearly touching, close, intimate, comfortable.

“Can I kiss you?” Frank asks, his eyes full of love.

Dave nods because he’s ready, and they kiss. Not on the cheeks, or the chin, or the nose, but on the lips like lovers do for the first time. It feels perfect, it feels like home. Dave’s lips are soft. He is soft and he seems to melt in Frank’s arms as they snake around him, Dave’s thumb cradling his cheek with love and care. Frank’s are soft, too, though coarse where he bites them, but it does not matter to Dave. Frank is warm and upright, lets him slacken and fall and kiss, with an arm around his waist and one tangling it’s fingers in to his hair. 

It ends, as all good things have to, but they are still curled up when their cart reaches the bottom.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI this took a while to write. sorry

**{CW - eating + talking about an ED, specifically anorexia.}**

Dave’s still thinking about the kiss at work, barely a week later. He sits on his soft scarf in his chair behind the checkout and thinks quite longingly about it, brooding over the way Frank touched his waist and kissed him during the nightly drought of customers. They tend to slacken in speed after about nine, followed by another surge at twelve. But this shift won’t last that long; he ends at ten, and it’s nine thirty right now.

During the drought, where he just sits, chews gum, maybe reads a book, or watches customers on the camera, Frank comes in with a nervous smile on his face. Dave straightens instantly, watches as he confidently struts through the aisles, and grasps a sandwich and a bottle of juice from the fridge and brings it to him. He greets Dave with a surprised smile, almost as if he’s pretending he didn’t know Dave was there. He did. He pays, then pushes it over the counter.

“That’s for you.” He says, when the pretence fades. “Hal said you didn’t eat much, I... I just wanted to make sure you did, because. Six hour shift and you never eat when you get home and. And I didn’t. _Know_ if I was allowed to use your sandwich stuff to make you something-“

“Thank you. And we’re, y’know. _Dating_ , you can use the sandwich stuff.” Dave smiles, and holds his hand in his. “How’s Ash?”

“Oh, he’s. Ash-ish. Normal Ash. He went to bed fine after some hugs.” He seems jittery.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dave sighs out softly, with love and care in his voice. “Do you need a hug? What happened?”

“I just get worried, I. Heard you didn’t eat and I freaked out a little.” Frank admits. “And could I? Have a hug, I mean, I. I know. That you’re _working_ but I just wanna hold you-“

Dave raises a finger to Frank’s lips, and raises from his seat. He comes out from behind the cash register and locks his arms around Frank, who eagerly cuddles him and kisses his head softly. 

“You’re okay, Frank.” Dave says as he strokes Frank’s hair gently with the tips of his fingers. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“It’s. Nothing, okay? Just eat that.”

“Why don’t you come sit behind the counter with me? It’s only thirty minutes until my shift ends, and then we’ll walk home together.” Dave suggests. “I promise we won’t get in trouble, Lottie does it with her boyfriend all the time.”

The taller man nods, and he sits down behind the counter after Dave lets him in, on the illicit second chair that isn’t supposed to be there, but the owner doesn’t mind. Dave drapes his warm patchwork scarf - a shawl on him, but closer to a bandanna on Frank - over Frank’s shoulder and gives him a kiss on the ear. 

Frank seems to regain his confidence as he sits down, and especially as he watches Dave begin to eat ravenously. Maybe he didn’t realise how hungry he was, or he was scared to put cash in the register and get himself something. Or maybe he planned on eating at home but Frank couldn’t verify that and Dave seems hungry now so he considers it a job well done. So much is going on in the head of Frank Poole at this very moment and Dave just _eating_ puts him at ease. He finds that creepy but his psyche says otherwise. Says it makes sense.

“I’m your boyfriend?” He tilts his head, sense of self restored. “Seeing as Lottie does this with her’s... even though I’ve never heard of ‘Lottie’ and you tell me all about work.”

“I mean.” Dave puts his sandwich down, a thick blush painting his cheeks. He thought Frank wouldn’t notice. “Um. We’re kinda boyfriends. If you want to be.”

“Dave...” Frank reaches out and holds the dangling hand in front of him. He gives a calming, reassuring smile. “I don’t wanna force you in to anything. If you don’t wanna be boyfriends yet, then we’re not boyfriends. It’s all cool with me, I don’t really mind as long as you’re happy.”

“Do you wanna be boyfriends?” Dave feels a little like a schoolboy asking that question, rushed and heavy as it comes out his mouth. It reminds him of being in elementary school and asking a boy to ‘date’ him. Which was a little more like holding hands and playing together and sitting together in class. He wonders for a second where his first ‘boyfriend’, Josh, might be now. 

“Yes.” Frank nods. “I wanna be boyfriends.”

“Don’t you need to have. Three dates before you decide someone’s your boyfriend?”

“No. I mean, people say it. But it doesn’t have to be true.” Frank eases his way about it with less awkwardness than Dave. “Plus, we sleep in the same bed frequently, and. Spend a lot of time together, I don’t think it matters.

They sit holding hands while Dave eats his egg sandwich, a slight smile and blush on his face. Frank’s is even wider. Dave leans his cheek against Frank’s shoulder, tightening his grip on Frank’s hand as if he’ll never let go. _Boyfriends_. They are _boyfriends_. 

••

Frank still second guesses himself before he puts his hands on Dave. He tries to just cuddle like he normally would, but every touch feels like it might be veering in to uncomfortable territory for Dave and the idea of upsetting him or making him feel unsafe genuinely _frightens_ him. Instead, he lets Dave’s hands guide his own, taking them and letting them sit somewhere safe and comfortable for them both. For Dave, that’s both hands looping around his tummy. He’s very soft. He’s warm too. Frank expects that from him; Dave _looks_ soft, but the extent of said softness and warmth surprises him every time. Dave just thinks he’s clammy but Frank thinks he’s like a living heater, powder dry and infinitely loving. He kisses Dave’s neck.

“Goodnight.” He whispers in to Dave’s shoulder with a confident smile. ” _Boyfriend_.”

“Goodnight, _boyfriend_.” Dave smiles back, equally enthusiastic. He turns back and pecks Frank’s nose with his equally soft lips. Everything about him is so soft. He breaks in to a satisfying yawn, but his body doesn’t budge an inch. “Sleep well.”

Frank’s still embarrassed about his little display of weakness at the store earlier. Dave didn’t understand it, he could tell, but he also didn’t ask any questions. That doesn’t mean he won’t. And if he does, then Frank doesn’t know what to say because his brother’s anorexia shouldn’t be any of Dave’s business. It matters. Of course it matters. But he’s. He’s never been sure how to approach that subject with his own mind, let alone bare it to someone else. Even if that is _Dave_. He struggles to think about it himself, he cuddles in to Dave, he keeps him close.

Thank god Martin’s better now. There was a time where he wasn’t, and where Frank was almost solely responsible for looking after him during that time. He didn’t know what to do. It’s why he’s so big on the sandwiches. Because that’s how he got Martin to eat. He made white bread sandwiches with the crusts cut off, filled with something simple like ham or cheese, made with no butter but plenty of love. He didn’t always eat it, but to placate his nagging big brother, he would try and take a bite or two. Little by little Frank added more to them. He still remembers how it went. Ham and cheese. Ham, cheese, mayo - because he hated butter and couldn’t stomach it. Then it was ham, cheese, mayo, and tomatoes. Then lettuce, and finally crusts and then came different types of bread, and he’d toast them and he would make one every day, until one day Martin made that sandwich himself. He didn’t the next day, or the day after that, and he counted on his brother to make him sandwiches those days. But he got there.

It’s a success story. He helped. Things got better and it didn’t end tragically. But he still remembers how frightened he was. How he frantically drove to Martin’s school to drop off his lunches when they were purposely forgotten and how thin he became and how helpless Frank felt in the whole thing because he didn’t know how to help. He didn’t know if the sandwiches were going to work and the way his brother felt like bones haunted his dreams. And he’s clearly still not done with it because hearing Dave didn’t eat sent him in to a panicking spiral like he was seventeen and he’d just seen a lunchbox on the side. But it’s over, it’s done, and he can’t understand that about himself. Sandwiches. His favourite food. The extent of his culinary prowess.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, and Dave has moved from his arms, forwards to comfort his son. He’s shushing quietly and fussing and kissing Ash’s head while he cries, but slowly the rattle of tears calms to a soft grizzle.

“There you go, baby boy. Papa’s here. Papa’s here, it’s okay...” He repeats similar babbles of words to Ash until he seems semi soothed, but he’s still threatening to cry. “What about a nice warm blankie, huh? Would that help, baby boy?”

This soft question is answered with a desperate whine, and Dave draws the fuzzy blanket up around his son. 

“There we are, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay... it’s okay, there you go, I’m here now.” He says, and his whisper is so soothing and gentle. Frank stays silent but his face is softened with love. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Dave sits up in bed as Ash doesn’t reply, only grizzles. Frank decides to quit faking it and rouses himself enough to get out of bed, drone through to the kitchen. Instinctively, he knows what to do. Bottle, and milk, and microwave. His legs carry him back through to the bedroom, and he hands the slightly warmed milk to Ash, who drinks it eagerly. Sleep’s starting to crawl back in to the equation now, no longer a distant memory as Ash’s eyes start to droop. Frank lays back down and sits up against the headboard, and lays his head against his flame's shoulder with tenderness. His hands find themselves reaching over for the frog, and tucking it in next to the toddler. He feels special about the fact that it's Ash's best friend, but more so over the fact that it clearly comforts him, that he loves it and that his tiny hands drag it in close and his tiny cheeks squish in to its face. 

Ash is a little person. Frank's never felt the similarity between _toddler_ and _person_ before. They've always been two separate entities but watching the way this little boy not only seeks comfort but tries to comfort himself changes that. He turns the warm light on and it shines through the blanket and he switches from the bottle to his pacifier and all in the world is well. He knows he's safe and calm with people who love him, and that it was all just a bad dream, even though he doesn't quite know what a dream is yet. He knows he's safe now and everything is good. 

What surprises Frank the most is Dave. He is awake and aware at an ungodly hour and still as tender as he always is. Patient with a nearly inconsolable crying toddler, still completely benevolent and uncaring of how he's been awoken by a scream in the night. His face is entirely calm and serene as he helps his baby calm down. He isn't angry, and Frank’s had a few angry lovers. He likes the calmness and internal strength Dave embodies.

“You feeling better?” He croaks sleepily, not used to talking so early in the morning. His hand cups the toddler’s face and his thumb strokes the side of his head; Ash starts to lull himself a little, his mumbles become hazier and eventually he is entirely silent and blissfully asleep. Frank’s voice hushes to a whisper. “Off he goes.”

“Thank you for helping.” Dave says, pressing a soft, powdery kiss to the top of his head. “He’s gonna have to stay with us... you don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course I don’t.” Frank smiles, slinking back down to the mattress. His back radiates relief and he gets himself comfortable before Dave slides his son down on to a pillow between them and lays down, sighing out in comfort. He reaches for the abandoned milk bottle and tucks it away behind him. “Goodnight, Dave.” 

“Night, Frank. Again.” Dave lets himself chuckle a little. He slings one of his arms around Ash and his pillow, where it meets with Frank’s hand and links with it loosely. It’s soft. The room’s still lit up with the dim light of the frog when Dave falls asleep.

His features are so gentle when he sleeps. Other than a slight gormless look, he’s delicate looking, his dark lashes practically touching his cheeks. His lips are curled in to a smile, just a little, his luscious, floppy curls frame his face so effortlessly even in sleep. Even his messy stubble is alluring. Frank’s heart pounds in his chest the longer he looks, the soft frog light seeming to make him even prettier. But he’s hunched over his son, he’s making sure the tiny thing feels safe even though he’s asleep and that’s the most beautiful thing about him. That he’ll stay still as a rock for the next five or six hours so that his baby may have a good night’s rest. Ash will not remember this in ten years time and if Dave were to tuck him back in to his little bed it would not affect him in the slightest but Dave loves him too much to let him go back to bed after a nightmare. He does the same with things he loves, he keeps them close and loves them with all his might. Dave _cares_ about _anything_ that might bring itself to his attention. Nothing is too small or big for him to love.

If Dave asked about Martin, Frank thinks he’d tell him.

••

In the morning, Dave’s still asleep but Ash is awake and tumbling around the bed, rolling and thrashing and trying to cuddle Frank. Frank ends up getting poked awake by Ash trying to wrap his arms around him for a hug. Frank spends a couple of minutes waking himself up before he gets out of bed holding Ash and the frog, and brings him through to the living room to sit him down on the couch and truss him up in his Saturday morning blanket bundles. 

“What do you want for breakfast, Ash?” He asks, surprised he has the house to himself. Hal’s still asleep and Dave’s out like a rock. “Does your papa ever make you pancakes? My mom used to make me pancakes on a Saturday morning.”

“No.” Ash shakes his head. “Pancake?”

“You’ve never had a pancake? I’ve gotta make you a stack. You’ll love them.” Frank explains, even though he knows very well that Ash doesn’t understand. Or at least, he doesn’t understand much. “Seriously. You will _adore_ pancakes.”

When Dave wakes up to the sound of cooking he’s slightly concerned but he doesn’t move for a while. He relishes in the warmth of his bed and the soft sunshine of the outside morning, and the scent of Frank until he can hear Ash babbling loudly and he hauls himself out of bed to see what’s going on. Dave finds his son sitting in his high chair and eating a stack of pancakes drizzled with syrup while enthusing happily, mouth open and flapping his free hand. Frank’s smiling at him and nodding at his babbles and being relentlessly gentle and patient with him. Dave wants to kiss him again.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Frank smiles, and Dave nods and smiles back and looks away slightly as his cheeks turn a soft red. “I made pancakes. Way too many, do you want some?”

“Yes, please.” Dave responds with a giggle. “And some coffee, if it’s going. I need some.”

“One stack, coming right up!” Frank smiles. He turns towards Ash. “I’ll be back to talk to you in a moment, okay?”

He turns away to attend to Dave’s breakfast request, and Dave sits down next to the little boy in the high chair. He smiles at him gently and helps him cut up his pancakes, which he’s having a little trouble doing. He gets his son’s attention and points at Frank.

“Do you like him?” Dave asks him softly.

“Yeah!” Ash nods with a wide open smile. “He’s friend.”

“Frank’s your friend, huh?” Dave wipes a crumb and some dribbles of syrup from his son’s cheek. “That’s good. Oh, remember, we’re going to see your special doctor again today. Do you remember her?”

“Oh.” Ash nods again, head a little droopier. He makes up his mind and shakes it. “No thank you.”

“I know you didn’t like it last time, baby boy. But this time, it’ll be different, okay?”

“No!” Ash yells out. Frank turns back around with Dave’s pancakes and sits down next to Ash. “Don’t wanna.”

“What’s going on?”

“He doesn’t want to go see his paediatrician. She’s gonna try and teach him to walk ‘cause it has me stumped.”

“I’m sorry, Ash, but you have to go see the doctor with your papa, okay?” Frank croons at him and strokes the side of his little cheek. He seems to calm a little.

“What’s the matter?” Hal asks, emerging from the bathroom with wrapped in his bathrobe, his hair wrapped in a towel. 

“He doesn’t wanna go see his paediatrician today.” Dave explains again. “Don’t you, baby?”

Ash whines and Frank lifts him from the high chair on to his lap for a hug. 

“I promise you, honey, they’re not gonna do that to your leg again.” Dave joins in the attempt to soothe the grumbling toddler. “Really. You’re gonna pop your blue leg on, and then the doctor’s gonna help you walk.”

“Do you want me to take you? Might be easier if he’s not riled up from the bus or anything.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I think that’s a good idea.

••

"Ash Bowman?" Ash’s well coiffed doctor peeks her head around the side of a hallway. 

Ash doesn't notice his name being called, much more interested in playing with his blue leg and the straps on his little shoe. Dave lets Frank pick the little boy up while he struggles to pull himself upright. In the end, Frank holds Ash with one arm and lends a hand to Dave so he can get up. It's a little embarrassing but he can tell Frank doesn't care, so he doesn't say anything. It was a slight lapse in judgement not to bring Ash's stroller but it wouldn't have fit in to the back of Frank's tiny car, not with all it's adjustments and wheels and blankets that Ash won't get in it without. It was a worse decision to leave the house without taking his pain meds, but there he is in the children's centre having not taken any of them.

"Hello, Ash." The doctor gives him a very friendly smile, though he looks away. His eyes stray to patterns on the walls of rainbows and cloudy skies. She notices and looks up at Dave, who she recognises as Ash’s dad. Frank wasn't here last time. "How is he?"

"He doesn't really want to be here but he should. Be okay, he tends to loosen up and be happier, and. Co-operative when he's doing things." Dave explains with a slightly embarrassed flush on his face. "And I'm here, too, so he'll. He'll try."

"Are you both dad?"

"No." Frank responds before Dave can, cringing internally and feeling awkward, and then he points towards Dave. "He's dad. I'm just helping."

He wants to be dad. Really badly. He wants to not only care for this little boy but relieve poor Dave of his stress. They would be a happy family - Ash’d have two parents and Dave would have support. As much care as he gives Ash, he’s not sure if he could father a child like Dave does. It means being on 24/7, and caring and being patient and loving and gentle. He’s not really sure if he’s any of those things, or if he’s ready for kids. As much as he does like Ash, he is still a kid and Frank isn’t sure if he’d fuck him up by raising him. Ash is clearly what matters there.

“If you’d follow me, then.” She smiles, and walks down the corridor.

Dave relies heavily on his cane in the next few steps. He straightens his bad leg out and leans on it while Frank holds his hand gently and smiles at him. 

“I can run back real quick and get you your meds if you need them. I will, like. Absolutely.”

“No, I’m gonna be okay.” Dave smiles, perking up entirely. “Besides, I want you to stay. He could really use the reassurance of having you here, he really likes you, and if push comes to shove I’ve got some spare painkillers in my pocket.”

Frank’s pleased with that, but he speaks to Dave softly and calmly. He doesn’t mean to sound condescending and he’s scared it’s gonna come off like that. “Take two, okay? I don’t want you to be hurting, you don’t need that. Nothing wrong with taking them - you *need* them.”

“Alright, yeah.” Dave nods, understanding. “They’re only paracetamol.”

“It should be enough to tide you over until we get back.” Frank holds his hand doubly tight and smiles at him sweetly. 

Frank takes a breath as they step in to the paediatrician’s office but Dave doesn’t even flinch - he realises very suddenly he shouldn’t be here. He’s filled with a strange feeling of being an impostor, that Ash isn’t his son and this is somewhere for parents and he *isn’t* a parent and that is very obvious. Dave sneaks his painkillers while the paediatrician isn’t looking and then tends to Ash by making sure his leg is in place, and the little bendy knee is straight and the socket’s attached snugly and correctly. He wonders for a second how long the thing’s gonna last; then shudders as he remembers how much his son’s grown in the past six months. He’s going to get hit with hospital bill after hospital bill. He’d like to think it doesn’t matter but he also knows Hal’s paying for it (or at least, it’s on his insurance) and that fills him with a slight feeling of dread.

“So, the socket’s fitting fine?” She whips around, and motions them both to conveniently placed seats. For _parents_ , Frank reminds himself, but trying not to be awkward he sits down all the same. 

“Um, yeah, it’s fitting great, no problems there. He’s getting on with having it on a lot better than I thought he would.” Dave smiles, then his face turns to that of general parental concern. “I’ve got him to stand up a few times with some help from me, but he’s just not very interested in walking. Aren’t you, baby?”

Ash doesn’t respond. His attention is lost anywhere else in the room, just not to the doctor. He’s shut himself up a little because he didn’t enjoy the casting process much, even if Dave treated him with many cuddles and his very own cup of warm cocoa with cream and marshmallows and cookies and candy afterwards. Instead, he plays with his shoes and kicks his legs up and down.

“Why don’t you think he’s interested?”

“Well, I think he’s used to his stroller or being carried around, y’know? I don’t think it’s occurred to him yet that the leg is what lets him walk.”

“Have you tried giving him an incentive to do it?”

“If I’m honest, I’m not really sure how to help him.” Dave admits shyly. “I don’t know, I’ve tried things with him, I’ve looked it up - how to teach your kids to walk. It just doesn’t work with him. I’m hoping you could just. Show me how we can do it here and we can carry that on at home.”

Frank feels bad then. He could’ve easily helped. It wouldn’t have been hard, he could’ve just held the kid’s hands, asked Dave if he wanted help. How can he say Ash means something to him if he doesn’t even try and pay attention to what’s going on, doesn’t offer his help-

“We can absolutely find something that works for him here, but also for you.” She explains with a genuine smile, then she turns towards Frank. “Do you live with them?”

“Um, no, but. Lately I’m there a lot.” Frank nods. “I don’t know how to help out either, he. Ash knows how to get about, he kinda sits down and pulls himself along the floor, he scoots, and he’s really fast, so he’s. Happy doing that. And he gets kinda mad if you pick him up while he is.”

“So, how has he moved throughout his life? Any crawling, other attempts at movement even if they didn’t work like holding on to things to prop himself up or moving around on his belly?”

“No, he didn’t do any of those things. He would’ve been about seven months old, I think, when he learnt he could shuffle about and he just started doing that or letting someone carry him. I think he feels safe being carried around, too, so there’s that.”

It’s a laborious hour and a half, but Ash holds on to a baby walker and manages to take a few laborious steps towards Dave, with the constant reassurance that he’s a good boy and he’s doing so, so well and the promise of a hug. Frank isn’t entirely useless, as well, he does his best to be there just behind Ash, in case he falls over. Assuring, softly, ‘don’t worry, I’m here! I’ve got you, Ash!’ They realise quickly he’s determined to walk and Dave’s determined to help. But there does come a point where Ash decides he’s done and sits down and won’t move, arms crossed, his face scrunched up and stormy. That’s when Frank picks him up on his own and comforts him, without being prompted to.

“Are you done?” Frank asks softly. “You’ve had enough, haven’t you? Do you wanna go home?”

“Yeah.” Ash holds on to him. Dave engages in a quiet conversation with Ash’s paediatrician as Frank rocks the child from side to side. He’s not sure how to comfort angry kids but this seems to work just fine. As thunderous as his tiny expression was, he’s melted in to a little sleepy puddle of toddler, grasping Frank’s t-shirt for comfort. He must be cold, too; Frank tries to remember if they brought a blanket. He thinks there’s one in the car and he hopes there is. He’ll crank up the heater all the same - September and autumn have come around now, and the warmth of summer is faltering rapidly.

“Well, we’ll be home soon, okay? And then you can take a nice nap and you can cuddle your friends. I’ll even get you some milk.” He doesn’t want these to be empty promises even though Ash isn’t really aware of the promise there. All Ash knows are that hugs and naps and milk are important to him.

He rubs his eyes and lets Frank carry him to the car, which is a godsend for Dave who’s still struggling with his hip. Frank does his best to tuck him in to his car seat safely, thankful the blanket’s reared its head, and makes sure Dave is comfortable in his seat too. He really doesn’t need to, but it’s the nice thing to do, along with the softest kiss on the side of his head. He would like to run his hands through Dave’s hair but Ash is restless and it would be unfair to leave him in the back seat for longer than he needs to be. There is time to love Dave when they are home and Ash is happy.

At home Frank gets to take the lead. He directs Dave to take his painkillers and sit down, and he picks up Ash, and gets him the warm milk he promised. Takes his leg off, helps him get dressed in to something comfortable, and lays him down in bed to sleep. His leg draws up to his chest like it always does, his pacifier finds its way in to his mouth, he holds his blanket up to his nose and sniffs.

“I sleep?” The pacifier exits his mouth momentarily, before finding its way back in. 

“Yeah, you sleep now. And I will come and wake you up, and then it’ll be dinner time. Hug first?” Frank asks quietly. Ash nods, and Frank scoops him in to his arms for a moment. The boy doesn’t resist, he just lets himself be cuddled and enjoys it. Frank tucks him back in and draws the little boy’s second blanket up to his shoulders. It’s getting colder now. “Sleep well, buddy.”

When he comes back in to the living room Dave’s taken his meds and has closed his eyes, head back, feet up on the ottoman, and deeply sighing. Frank sits next to him gingerly, keeping his feet down on the floor. He tries to figure out if Dave is asleep, even though they’ve just got home. He’s not sure, but he can tell Dave’s taken some painkillers by the dripping cup of water on the side. He hates swallowing them dry; even the sugar-coated ones that he loves the taste of. He is resting, but still in control of himself. Frank thinks he’s awake but he’s too scared to say anything, afraid he might wake Dave up. And of course, Dave wouldn’t be mad - he’s too nice, he’s kind and loving, Frank thinks - but Frank would hate to deprive him of sleep.

“Did he get to sleep okay?” Dave says quietly, voice reeking of exhaustion, keeping his eyes shut.

“Yeah, he’s. I’ve just put him to bed, he seemed to settle fine. You have a really cute kid, you know that?” Frank replies equally quietly. He wants to get close but he tries not to. 

“I know he’s cute. He could’ve been the Gerber baby. Or something like that. If I could’ve gotten him in to a little sailor outfit we’d probably be rich.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.” Dave replies, his head growing a little dangly. “You’ve seen the pictures.”

“I think you’re tired too.” Frank croons.

“Yeah, you’re right.” His voice seems to drag as his head lolls towards Frank’s shoulder and rests there. “But I don’t wanna nap. I gotta make dinner.”

“I’ll make it, don’t worry.” 

“No, no. I’ll make it...” Dave says softly, voice trailing away. 

“You’ve had a long day. You just-“ Dave falls slack entirely, his lips curled in to a pleasant smile. “Yeah. Like that.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> summary - Hal and Frank confront Dave about how he hasn’t been to therapy yet. Dave reacts poorly to this because he’s emotionally tender from having another nightmare about his childhood trauma. Frank cheers him up and he goes to work at the store, and when they get home they go to bed together and talk about being kids. Frank finds out about Bobby being dead, and Dave tells Frank about some of his childhood, including being left alone for a long time due to his mother’s depression and his father being in space, and how he broke his hip which would eventually lead to his osteoarthritis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this chapter is very brash in how it handles suicide bc its abt hearing things you don’t want to hear because they need to be said. i make references to suicide and self harm, one reference to cigarettes, a few to alcohol, and we be dealing with trauma so ill put a little summey just there if you can’t read it. peace homies

Hal sidles his way in to Frank’s little cubicle at work, his eyes crunched together in a strange, embarrassed glare that doesn’t really fit anywhere, but Frank knows he’s not mad. Hal’s simply not sure how to react to whatever situation he’s been presented with and he’s _embarrassed_ \- Frank ushers him in with a patient, forgiving smile.

“What’s up, dude?” He tilts his head and offers a cup of coffee. The machine in his cubicle’s a new addition, which intrigues Hal, but he declines with a shake of his head all the same. Frank looks at his hands and finds they’re already jittery; the polite refusal is for the best. 

He pauses before he can even start. “This could be a little bit of a - erm- _personal_ question, but,” He pauses, and Frank racks his brain for what Hal might want to ask. It concerns him a little but he chooses not to show any outward concern. “Has Dave said anything to you about finding a therapist yet?”

Frank stares blankly for a moment. He knows straight off the bat Dave hasn’t said a thing about it but he knows Hal is concerned about him not going to therapy. He decides not to lie about it. He knows therapy is the very last thing on Dave’s mind. He’d rather keep things vague all the same because Hal deserves to know what’s really going on; Dave’s like his brother after all. But he knows Dave doesn’t want to go at the same time and it’s deciding who to please. He feels like he’s cautiously stepping on a minefield but he has no time to place the step, he just has to run out brashly and pray he doesn’t get blown to pieces. It’s better for Dave if he goes. But Dave doesn’t want to and he’s a grown man, that’s his decision-

His mouth chokes up an answer before he’s even finished debating it over in his head. “He hasn’t, I don’t think.” 

“Oh. Right.” Hal stares above him blankly. “I don’t feel safe here, why don’t we ditch work and go get some donuts. Or something.” It’s a question but it feels like a demand. Or a plea for help. Frank bolts out his seat and within minutes they’re out the building, virtually undetected. They’re fine.

“I know you want him to go, but are you sure that’s. Best for him?” Frank says with a slight grimace, because he knows that’s come out the entirely wrong way. Hal stares in disbelief. “I- I don’t. He’s. We all know he needs to go to therapy but he’s not ready. And as shit as that is we have to respect it, if he can’t talk about his problems because he. Can’t even process _thinking_ about them should he really go?”

Hal is silent for a few moments. “It’s been seven years now, he can’t do that himself. He needs someone who can help him, who knows what they’re doing. We don’t, admit it.”

“I’m not saying we do.” Frank admits. “But he’s gonna get there and he’s gonna shut down because he can’t say a thing.”

“But he needs the help.”

“I know. I know he does. I agree with you there one hundred percent-“

“Then why isn’t it best? Therapists aren’t scary. They don’t bite. And he knows that, he’s been before, the nurses _made_ him go. And he knows this is good for him, he’s just being a. Petulant little- sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” Frank nods. “I know how you feel. And if you believe that Dave will be fine in a therapy setting then I trust you. I’m just scared he won’t. I get scared.”

“Because you love him?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Frank admits sheepishly. “But I’ll tell him. If it comes up - I mean, I don’t think I’ve really got the agency to tell him. I think it’s more yours or his own.”

“I get it, Frank. You love him and you want to keep him happy but sometimes happy is things that you don’t want to hear. But he needs it, even if it’s unfair.”

Frank understands but his mind still wants to fight the notion. Dave needs the therapy - he knows that. He really does. And it would be cruel to keep pretending he didn’t, and pretending that everything was fine and that he didn’t need to fix the problems Frank knows are mounting on him day by day. If anything that’s worse than a slightly awkward conversation with good intentions. And he’s not sure what to do because he wants Dave to keep him on his pedestal, he wants Dave to like him, he wants Dave to keep liking him. He knows he needs to tell him. It’s the better thing to do. Just say it, choke it up, tell him what he really needs to hear and not what he wants. When Dave says he’s fine he wants to be believed but nobody does.

And he’s having trouble edging around the subject at dinner because it feels like the elephant in the room. At least to Frank. Ash is safely tucked in to bed, and Dave is mindlessly eating his spaghetti while Hal and Frank nervously paw eyes at one another. _Are you going to bring it up?_ Frank’s eyes desperately beg. Hal’s eyes do not give an answer, though that may be because one is staring in to space. He’s not sure what to say. He knows Dave’s down, that he’s had a bad day, that he’s thinking about. Maybe his suicide attempt, or the bad girlfriend or the other things he doesn’t like to think about. Frank doesn’t know a lot. He just knows a few little details - Dave always keeps so quiet about it. And that’s fine because Dave doesn’t owe anyone anything about his trauma but Frank wishes he knew because then he could make everything better. Or maybe he couldn’t make everything better and he could just do a little, he could give some kind words, maybe he’d be a shoulder to cry on, maybe he could just sit there listening quietly. _Fuck._

Hal saw it all this morning, too. How he slowly sidled himself in to the kitchen with his puffy red eyes boldly on display as if hiding them in plain sight would make it seem like there was nothing wrong with him. As if he was okay even though Hal knew he wasn’t. Dave is a terrible liar but he’s worse at telling the truth. He can eat his spaghetti all he wants but he’s still not okay. He’s still hurting.

“This is nice.” Dave says something to break the silence. “How’s the sauce? I added some balsamic vinegar this time, it’s supposed to cut through the tomatoes or something. Flavour wise. I think I added too much.”

He doesn’t receive a reply. Hal and Frank are too lost in thought as to what to say to him - as much as they’d like to tell him that yes, the sauce is very nice, he spent time in bed crying again and he promised to find a therapist but he hasn’t. He knows they’re thinking about something, but he chooses to ignore it.

“Y’know, they make balsamic vinegar out of _grapes_. I mean. They make so much out of grapes. Like. They make wine, and conserve, and oil out of grapes. But y’know what’s not made of grapes? Grape flavouring. What’s up with that? You’d think that grape flavour... “ His voice trails off, and he buries his head in his hands and sighs. “This is fucking useless, isn’t it?”

“Well it. It’s not useless, it’s interesting-“ Frank tries to reason, but Hal cuts him off. 

“You have to go to therapy.” Hal nearly shouts but his voice gets quieter as he realises just how loud he was being. Then the noise in the room stops entirely, leaving only the ticking of the clock and the slight radio hiss of Ash’s baby monitor. “I’m sorry. That’s the way it is.”

Dave drops his fork on to his plate with a loud clatter.

“We’re. Worried about you, Dave.” Frank says softly, trying to defuse. “Please. You said you would - months ago - and you haven’t even tried, we’re worried.”

“I know you like to think there’s nothing wrong with you but everyone in this room knows that’s not true. I know it, Frank knows it, _you_ know it, and I’m sick of how you pretend there is nothing wrong with you because it hurts everyone. Even _Ash_ \- he’s gonna grow up thinking that there’s something okay in never getting better, holding on to your trauma like this. And it’s not. I don’t understand it, I can’t.” Hal folds his arms. Dave’s avoiding him with his eyes, anxiously looking away, face turning redder by the second. “You remember the therapist at the hospital, that helped you when you slit your wrists? You were better. You were coping, you were. You were your old self. Like you before everything happened. And I love you like I always have but I still miss when you were happy.”

Dave is silent. He doesn’t have a response - Hal’s hit him while he’s down and he really doesn’t have an excuse. Maybe it was all too much, maybe it was because he forgot, he was busy with Ash, he just didn’t want to because he doesn’t feel safe telling strangers about what people did to him when he was young and vulnerable. It’s that vulnerability that was his very problem. And he knows it’s better but he doesn’t want to admit it, he wants to be blissfully ignorant because then it means he’s not wrong. Well. It does mean he’s wrong. But it means he doesn’t know any better and that makes things easier to digest for him. 

“I can’t do it, Hal.”

“Did you try? Because I know you didn’t. And all I want to do is help you but you won’t take it. Why? There is something wrong with you and you know it hurts you so why do you lie to yourself, and by proxy everyone around you? We know you’re hurt. And it doesn’t hurt anyone to admit it but you won’t and that’s more harmful.”

Frank doesn’t know what to do either. He knows Hal is right and he shouldn’t intervene, but he wants to cosset Dave who’s close to tears, and tell him it’s okay. That he can do things in his own time. But the longer he goes without some semblance of help the more permanent all of it will be. Hal is right. Seven years is long enough.

“Dave, please. This is really important, to everyone. I know it sounds harsh but we’re just trying to look out for you. And you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be able to get things out.” Frank says softly. He reaches across the table to hold his hand. “I know it’s scary. And you don’t want to talk about what happened to you. But I promise you, I _promise_ , things are going to get better.”

“I don’t want to. I’m not ready.” Dave bites his cheeks. “And I don’t want you guys to worry about me. I’m fine, I promise, I’m coping fine.”

 _You need to stop,_ Frank signals to Hal. Hal doesn’t listen. Frank knows things will only get worse but Hal’s determined to see it through.

“You’re not fine. You cried in your room _again_ this morning, you’re having _nightmares,_ this isn’t okay, this isn’t good for you or Ash or us. And telling me not to worry about you is like telling water not to be wet.” 

“I’m too exhausted to think about it, Hal. Eat your dinner and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

“Dave, please, this is important-“

“Eat your fucking pasta!” He snaps all of a sudden, and Hal’s very visibly startled, and his own face goes red and he has to stop it from scrunching up when he realises what he’s done. “I told you. I’m too tired to talk about it. And I don’t want to talk about it, so just. Stop. Talking.”

There is deathly silence, and then Dave stands up and leaves. He leaves his plate on the table, half finished, and he doesn’t storm but he teeters to his bedroom, his socked feet don’t make a single noise, and Frank hears the baby monitor stop its endless stream of feedback. Dave turned it off so they couldn’t hear him cry but the walls are thin and he does. 

The silence makes him uncomfortable.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks Hal quietly. “I will make you some tea.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t want to eat.” Hal shakes his head. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m just trying to help him.”

“And he said he was too tired, Hal.” Frank responds, still trying to be as gentle as possible. “We should’ve just stopped there, he’d have felt better for it-“

“He can’t keep ignoring it. It’s not just going to go away if he ignores it, it’s not _like that_ , it’s important and I’m sick of him acting like it isn’t. I just want him to be. Remotely okay again.”

“He knows it’s not like that, I promise you. And he does want to get better but I think you’ve asked him at the wrong time, I think he’s just a bit tender. It was this morning, y’know, he’s still probably thinking about all of it. And trying to pretend it doesn’t exist.” 

In a brief moment of overt emotion which Hal tends not to show, he hands his head and rests it in his hands. “I miss when we were teenagers. I hate what everyone did to him.”

“It’s not your fault, Hal. You know that, right? It’s theirs. It’s everyone who did things to him.”

“I know it’s not my fault. I tried to protect him best I could but I was too young and he was too vulnerable to do it himself.” He stays quiet for a long while, lost in thought. The words are brewing but sticking to his tongue like syrup. Frank feels awkward there but he doesn’t want to leave Hal on his own, either. “My mama tried to help cause I couldn’t but it was too late, the damage was done and he looked fine but he tried to kill himself and he slept at my house in my room for weeks after that.”

“I’m sorry, Hal. That must have. Sucked.” 

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago now.”

Frank thinks for a moment, then gingerly puts his hand on Hal’s arm. “If it still hurts him, it can still hurt you too.” 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe _I_ need therapy.” Hal stares blankly for a moment, and then they both laugh.

Dave’s not a liar. He did want to go to therapy. And he was going to when he was ready. But he feels like a liar. And he’s not a liar, but he’s curled up in bed with his body aching, tugging at his hair and his eyes desperately trying to stop crying because he’s so fucking sick of crying. He hates showing emotion. He hates vulnerability, he hates anyone knowing he’s in pain, he hates how his body hurts and he can never control himself. It’s like whenever he’s in emotional pain something takes him over that is distinctly, in that moment _not him, not_ the man he tries to be. He hates whatever takes him over but he can’t control it, it’s like he just stands and watches while he fucks up his life in a few seconds of lucidity. It happens all the time. Or it doesn’t, he just remembers when it does, like when he slit his wrists or when he tried to stab Betty or when he didn’t tell his brother about the failing oxygen rig, when he was fucking about on the roof and fell off and smashed his hip, or when he made Bobby cut all of his hair off, or the times he screamed at his mother or _fucked up his friendships._

“Hey, Dave...” Frank says cautiously, advancing towards him and sitting on the edge of the bed. Dave’s not sure how long he’s been there for and he wants Frank to go away but he hasn’t got the energy or the strength to say anything. He just lays there, coiled up and sobbing, face red, silent save for the way his body moves against the sheets when his shoulders turn in and out from the tears. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you, neither is Hal, it’s all okay...”

He doesn’t say anything but allows himself to be pulled gently upwards and cuddled, brushed against by Frank’s stubble. Dave feels a little like he’s a baby doll, crying real tears. At least Frank’s gentle, and he’s warm, and he’s safe and Dave feels safe with him. Frank wipes away his tears with his thumbs and kisses Dave’s forehead. He has no business being as comforting as he is, being as loving or kind or caring even when Dave’s been so callous to his friends. 

“I’m sorry. We upset you a lot by dragging it up, right? I. Didn’t mean to. And I don’t want you to be upset.” Frank whispers, because he knows Ash is asleep soundly and he doesn’t want to wake him up. “But-“

“I know you’re both right, okay?” Dave presses a finger to his lips. “And I don’t want to talk about it right now. Can we just leave it at that? _Please_?”

“Okay.” Frank nods softly through the finger. “I didn’t mean to upset you, that’s all I’m, saying-“

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” He feels like he’s not in control again but he catches himself just before he tells Frank to shut up and ruins it all. He wants to smash his head in to the tiles of the bathroom and leave a bloody mess but he’s okay being cuddled. 

He wants to hurt himself. Badly. But then he looks up at Frank and sees how much it would hurt him and lets himself lay there in Frank’s tentative grasp instead, twiddles his fingers through the back of his hair and stays silent. He peers over at the clock because he knows he has work and lets his time cut down to the bone before he moves to get dressed. Spending all of it in Frank’s presence. Loved and protected. They don’t have to talk to feel safe with one another and Dave appreciates that. He gets dressed, hid bashfully behind the divider, and realises he’s in no fit state to go to work. If he gets a single difficult customer he’s going to crash and crumble because he’s afraid he won’t be able to control himself and instead he will just stutter. But he has to go anyway.

He leaves for work holding Frank’s hand; he was hoping for Hal to be out so he could apologise but he’s nowhere to be seen. Dave worries for a moment that Ash will be left alone but Frank assures they’d have heard him leave. He’s just in his bedroom. He gets to work and sits down on his chair and Frank kisses him goodbye.

“Do you want me to come pick you up? And come home with you?” He says softly. Everything about his body is so comforting. “I could. Stay here if you wanted to, I’ll loiter.”

“No, you go. But come get me, okay? Please?”

“Yeah, I’ll come get you. And do you want me to sleep with you, or do you want me to go home?”

“Um, could you stay. If it’s not a problem?”

“It’s not, okay? But I gotta go, your boss is. Side-eyeing me.” Frank smiles haphazardly at Dave’s boss, lets go of his boyfriend’s hand. He quietly adds, “I love you.”

It doesn’t matter if they haven’t been dating for long. Dave needs to hear someone loves him and that matters more than social acceptability, or ‘taking it slow.’ 

“I love you too.” Dave smiles, and he’s happy to say it back. “I’d kiss you, but he will kill me.” 

Frank slips a pack of bright pink, rubbery gum and a wrinkled dollar from his back pocket over the counter to avoid suspicion. He doesn’t even need to hurry his ass up, really, nobody’s there except for them, but he does it out of courtesy all the same. 

“I’ll see you at 11, alright?” Frank smiles. “Or text me if you need me earlier. Or text me if you need me at all-“

“ _Go_.” Dave stresses, his boss close to breathing down his neck, but he kisses Frank’s nose before he leaves. He feels a lot better, a lot more whole, but he’s not sure if he’s in control and that uncertainty throws him off a little. Still he can ring things up and reach for cigarettes with the help of his little stool. 

“Are you gay?” Some guy asks him, at 10pm. He’s very young, Dave judges him to be about seventeen. He’s the only person in the store, the owner having gone home to watch TV and the security footage.

“What?” He tilts his head. He’s bi, but. Who’s asking? He rings up the items in the basket, some of which are. Questionable. “Do you want a bag, or did you bring one?”

“You look gay.” He affirms.

“Uh. Thanks? Bag or no bag?”

“Can I have. One of those vodkas off the back shelf? And a bag, please.” 

“Can I see some ID?” Dave asks, mostly because he doesn’t want to get it down and put it back up when he inevitably fails this test. His hip’s playing up. 

“Uh, I left it in my car.”

“I need to see it before I can give you the vodka, nothing personal, I’ll lose my job if I give it to you without it.” He sighs. “Look, there’s nobody here, I’ll keep your stuff ready, just go get it.”

“Uh. Okay.”

He rushes out for ten minutes. Dave’s about to put it all back when he comes back in sweaty and red, clearly having been running. What’s worse is that the ID is clearly fake, like it’s hot off the presses. Everything about it is just slightly off but the kid is desperate. And what’s worse is that Dave remembers being him. Seventeen and desperate for something to plug up the pain. He takes a very deep breath in. He will not be like the cashier that let him nearly poison himself.

“That’s. Not even convincing, but I’ll forget about this if you just pay, take the other stuff and go, okay? And I don’t have to do that, I can and should call the cops. If you come in here again and try this shit, I will.”

“I swear, it’s not fake.”

“It’s on printer paper and the words are pixelated, I’m gonna take a guess and say you literally went and made this when you left.” Dave rolls his head in his hands. He feels callous for it but he remembers the days he spent in bed drunk and feels better about it. “Seriously. You’re lucky I’m not calling the cops on you, but if anyone asks I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and say you just had no ID on you so I couldn’t sell it to you. Understood?”

“Okay, fine.” 

He rings it all up again - the cash register cancels the order itself after ten minutes of inactivity. The boy pays and Dave sits back and sighs. Exhausted. It wasn’t even that difficult but it _was_ so difficult at the same time. He closes up and waits for Frank, who’s blowing a bright pink bubble when he turns up. 

“Dave!” He calls. “Your scarf!”

Dave’s eyes widen, realising how cold he is, but he can’t get back in. “Fuck!”

Frank puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m wearing a sweater, uh-“ He takes his parka off and slips it around Dave. It’s big and yellow and it smells like him. Frank realises he’s going to be cold, but the way Dave holds his hand so gently makes up for it. He doesn’t speak. He knows Dave needs the silence.

They get home, and Dave sheds his outer layer of cashier finery in the dark bathroom and switches to a big t-shirt, and releases his hip from it’s brace. Frank changes in to the clothes he always wears when he sleeps with Dave. They cuddle up together, and it’s warm under the covers, it’s full of softness and warmth.

“How are you feeling, did anything happen?” Frank whispers. Dave’s ready to talk now.

“I’m fine, y’know, a kid came in tried to buy vodka without ID, I guess that was the worst part.”

“That happened to me one time.” Frank admits. “I was fifteen, it was my first job. And the guy was older than me, I knew he was about seventeen cause my older brother was in his grade-“

“You’re a middle child?”

“Yeah, we’re not all cosseted younger brothers.” Frank jests, and he doesn’t know how much that hurts. Dave pretends not to be, anyway. Frank doesn’t know the truth about Bobby.

“I thought you were the oldest?”

“Oh - yeah, I mean, technically. My dad had a son from a previous marriage. And then he married my mom and I was the baby, and he went off with another woman when I was really young and my mom had Martin with her new husband. He’s still around and I call him dad too, I actually call the dad that like. Sired me by his real name, John. It was funny, like. I would just rock up for visitation like ‘Hey, John, what’s hangin’ and he’d deadname me and I’d leave, and dad would show up and make a point of calling me Frank to like. Dad-shame him. I wasn’t really close with my older brother but he was still there and I still talked to him. I also have a younger sister but I met her maybe twice when she was a baby, and I think she’s forgotten about me.”

“Oh, okay.” Dave smiles. It’s a lot to take in. “I mean, me and Bobby had the same dad. And neither he or mom - mom especially - could deadname us because Bobby would yell at them.”

“You’re both trans?”

“Yeah.” Dave laughs. “It’s a bit weird, he. He realised before me and then because of him, I realised that I could be a boy, and it made me really happy so I dragged him in to the bathroom one night and made him cut all my hair off and it looked really bad but I remember just being. So happy. And mom would say I had the most beautiful hair in the world before that, and I came down that morning with my short hair and this terrible haircut and she cried. But I felt like me, and it just didn’t matter. She took me to get a ‘boy’s haircut’ as a punishment but I loved it, and she was just. *Oh god, I’ve got two boys*.”

“My mom and dad were completely fine with everything. I was just ‘hey mom, I wanna be a boy’ and they were fine with it. And I was on T by the time I was 14, they were really on the ball with it. They just wanted me to be happy, I guess. And I had a trans aunt and she helped them with it a lot.”

“I started T a couple months before I met Kel, and I got my top surgery just before Ash turned one, he was really cute. Hal brought him in to the recovery room and he cuddled me and he didn’t like the smell at all but he’d missed me.”

“That’s so cute, holy shit. _He’s_ so cute.” Frank smiles. “What about Bobby? You guys seemed to do everything together.”

Dave stops in his tracks. He doesn’t know what to say. His eyes fall downcast, his mouth droops a little, and Frank notices and becomes worried, but he just. Stays there. Paralysed, because the words are there but they won’t move.

“Dave?”

He has to say it. It’s not the kind of question you can avoid. It wasn’t the kind of question he was ever going to be _able_ to avoid. What did he expect? For Frank to be married to him forever and ever without ever meeting this wonderful brother figure? The man who single-handedly seemed to raise Dave in lieu of a working father and emotionally absent mother? He hates admitting Bobby ever died but he has to, he has to be able to tell him. That’s what Avni said and he knows she’s right. She always is, she has this knack of it. 

“Bobby’s been dead since I was fifteen.” He spits out. “It was an accident, when we were scuba diving, and he. Went too deep and our oxygen rig broke and he died. And I nearly did too but I. Managed to make it out. And dad died after that too and that’s when everything started and there was Betty and I cut and I used to drink and I nearly killed myself.”

Frank is stunned. Dave has never spoken this candidly before. He doesn’t know what to say so he just turns over and cuddles him, brings him in close before Dave starts to cry again.

“I need therapy. I know I do.” He sobs quietly. Frank feels the scars on Dave’s arm and it all makes sense. The little bumps almost hurt under his fingers. He pulls Dave in closer and rubs his back because he doesn’t know what to say. And he should be able to say something because Dave matters to him, Dave is everything in his little world at this moment. He has to say something. He needs to tell Dave he loves him. “I haven’t cut in a really long time, since Ash was born, I never wanted him to grow up around that sort of thing.”

“That’s good.” Frank assures. “That’s really good, that you look after your baby like that.”

“I wanted to be better than my mom. She was depressed, she lost her husband and her son- I know that, she had every right to hurt but she left me on my own and, and-“ He shuts himself off and sobs in to Frank’s because he doesn’t want to lay the whole story on him. 

He feels like he’s been through too much and talking about it just makes him sound ridiculous despite the fact it all happened. He wants to scream. Frank doesn’t coax or tease it but he lays there and lets him cry softly. He is quiet entirely and Dave can’t appreciate it enough. He knows he can talk whenever he wants to, and that’s okay with Frank. He doesn’t want to wake Ash, who’s sleeping soundly in the corner of the room, up either. So he is stuck between a rock and a hard place of keeping it inside or letting it out and neither of those things can happen and he doesn’t know what to do about it and he feels choked.

“I don’t think you’re gonna be able to sleep with this on your mind, do you want to go get some. Uh, I don’t know - a drink to calm you down? And then, you can put your mind off it, and we can sleep, or. Or you can talk about it, y’know?”

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds. That sounds fine.”

Frank very tenderly makes him some tea and it’s not anything special but it warms him up and it’s sweet and good. They cuddle on the couch in the darkness, the light of the city radiating through the windows, the cars passing by quietly and the stars invisible in the almost sepia sky. 

Dave feels like he’s a very young boy again, in busy Tampa where there are lots of people in his home at night and it’s loud and dark outside and he is small and crawling. He puts himself there. He was very little and probably should have been safe in his bed that late at night, but he was out and he was staring from the windows and chasing a fluffy dog on his hands and knees. He was a late walker and he’d always been clumsy so for some reason he was crawling. He can’t remember much, he knows he’s about three years old, it’s early and fuzzy to him, but he knows that it begins a trend. 

When Dave was helpless, nobody helped him. Even when he was small and helpless and a _baby_ , needing protection and care, he was left to his own devices. He had to do things on his own or with Bobby to help him, but Bobby was a kid too and he was only two years older. He did his best, god bless him. He tried his hardest; when their father was gone and their mother was delightfully absent he made food for his baby brother. And when that baby brother fell from the roof when trying to realign the antenna so he could fix the TV, Bobby was there with him after getting home from school and calling for an ambulance because almost six year old Dave couldn’t move and he was crying really bad. Bobby was the only person that was there for him when their dad was gone.

Dave used to hate his mom, too. Because he wanted her to come out of bed, he wanted her to make them food like moms do on TV, he wanted her to kiss him better because he had a bad boo-boo and he had to sit down on his chair all day and he wanted to be loved. He wanted a real mom - as much as he loved his brother he had to be *alone* in the days dad wasn’t there and Dave did not want to be on his own. He was used to being alone, yes, and he was good at feeding himself when Bobby was at school, and he could watch TV and colour with crayons, but he did not like it. 

There was someone who cared for him for a while; her name was Janie, she was an expectant mother who heard about his broken hip and decided to care for him for a while. She brought him soup and helped him brush his hair and helped him lift himself off the couch he sat on, she read him books as he laid against her arm enthralled, and she even brought him little gifts like teddy bears to keep him company. She called him her *little curlymop* and gave him kisses on his little forehead and for the first time he had a mom. He wanted to call her mommy because she was the textbook definition of it but he couldn’t, she was Janie. But one day she left and didn’t come back. She had her baby and she couldn’t love him anymore. 

Dave, who needed a mom more than anything in the whole world, went back to not having anything close to it.

He had a mom, but she was badly depressed. He didn’t quite understand that she developed post-natal depression when he was born, and cancer after that, and the post-natal depression never really went away. In her unconscious mind, Dave was the cause of all of her problems. So she simply ignored him. And he understands that now he is twenty three years old but he did not when he was six. To his baby self she did not want him. She _rejected_ him, like the poor little ducklings on the biology shows he watched.

Helpless, with nobody to help him.

And there were weeks when dad - Robert Bowman, senior - came home to see Dave and Bobby and care for them. He is an important astronaut and Dave idolised him. He was also a good father, and he sat there with his nearly-paralysed son in the day, and hugged him and made him snacks and watched TV with him and drew with him. Dave drew his mom a lot in the hopes she would love him. His dad called him a ‘good little artist _.’_

 _”Oh, Davey.”_ His father said to him when he said why he was drawing, in the middle of helping him peel his crayons so he could draw easier. _”Of course mommy loves you. You’re a very good little boy, I promise, she just doesn’t understand you sometimes. And that goes for both you and your brother.”_

” _But she loves Bobby and not me.”_ He tilted his head. He wanted to say that Bobby was hood and that she loved Bobby and cuddled him and gave him everything in the world that he needed, and why not him? He knew he was deserving of love, the TV told him that. But he held his tongue instead and finished his drawing while his papa thought of what to say to him. The drawing went in the pile, as they all did. 

And then he gets older, and he stops speaking all of a sudden because he can’t handle being fifteen. Frank understands and puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles. 

“It’s okay, Dave.” Is all he says, simple but still caring. Dave knows he’s been listening. “I’m here.”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s not even the worst part, it’s all - it’s stupid, it’s. _Fuck_.” He puts his head in his hands and pulls away a little. 

“It’s not stupid. You’re hurting and that’s. Well, it’s not okay but I want you to talk about it.”

“I can’t talk anymore.” He shakes his head. “I can’t, you can’t know, you can’t-“ 

Frank puts his hand on the side of Dave’s head, like he always does. “ _Hey. It’s okay_.”

There’s something so soothing in his voice that makes Dave feel better. It always does. It’s soft and caring but still husky and a little sexy, it’s concerned and it’s loving and it’s angry at the people that have hurt him. It shows so much emotion even when there is none to be shown. Dave loves it. Dave loves him.

“You’re right, it’s. It’s fine.”

“Every time you say you’re fine it makes it okay for people to hurt you.” Frank furrows his brow. “It’s not okay. Your mom. Left you on your own, Dave, how is that okay? And yeah she did it because she was depressed, but you were a little _kid_ , you needed to be loved, and it’s okay that you’re hurt.”

Dave is silent because he doesn’t really know what to say but he knows that Frank is right. He lets himself lean in to Frank’s shoulder and he smiles and he holds his hand and he feels safe there. They both do. 

Outside Hal’s apartment, it’s even darker now. The cars have quietened down, and the city is sleeping. Frank is thinking about what Dave said to him, in essence - ‘when I needed help, there was nobody there to help me.’ It has been that way throughout his life, it seems. People have had good intentions and tried to protect him but the people he needed were never really there. His brother and father died, Avni had her own children to care for, and as sweet as he always was Hal was too young. He never told anyone’s either, because he learnt quickly that when he cried nobody came. But he has someone now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moral of da story eat ya fuckin pasta


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i am working on playlist vol 2, that should come out soon and it'll be attached to the last 2 chapters n maybe the next if i haven't posted it by then. peace homies

_**{** **_t_ w for heavy discussion of moms, death and some trauma, as well as general hospital discussion} ** _

Dave’s at work and he gets a call from a number in Tampa. He considers not even answering it because he moved to Urbana to leave Tampa behind. But at the last moment, his morbid curiosity gets the best of him and he slips behind the back of the store and answers, raising the phone to his ear. 

"Hi, I’m calling from the Memorial Hospital of Tampa. Is this David Bowman speaking?" The voice over the phone asks. It’s almost overshadowed by talking in the background. 

“It’s just Dave, but yeah. How can I help you?” He feels mounting anxiety in his chest. He’s not sure if he could deal with this being about Betty, which he’s scared it might be; would she know his number? Did she ever remember it? Of course, she’d drag him into it, whatever this is. Has he changed it since he left? Fuck, he doesn’t think he has, maybe it’s _her_ -

“Your mom, Jessie Bowman, she’s had a stroke.” Dave’s heart drops in his chest. “She asked us to inform you.”

He tries to compose himself but it's difficult, he feels sick. His _mother_. Hospital. “Is she. Is she okay? Is she dead?”

“No, she’s not. But her condition is critical and she may not have much time.”

_And I am her only surviving family._ He thinks to himself. Which makes him feel strangely selfish, self-centred, but at the same time, it feels like a valid point to make. If he's not there in time she will be alone when she dies and that scares him - _anyone_ being alone scares him - and it's ironic that he thinks that of the woman who gave him that very fear.

“Um. Tell her I’ll be there soon-ish. As soon as I can.” He says, voice shaking. He feels like he might burst into tears, but he knows he has to stay strong. “Thank you.”

She hangs up and Dave rushes back inside from the cold, and tugs on his boss’s arm.

“What’s up, Dave?” He asks. “Please don’t tell me you have to go, I haven’t got anyone else.”

“I have to go, my. God, my. Mom’s in the hospital and I have to get there fast. I’m sorry.” Dave pants, anxiety setting into his chest. “I. I need to see her, she’s-“

His eyes widen, but his face resumes its normal, calm disposition. He understands. “Go, okay? Don’t even worry about it.”

“Okay, thank you.” He slips his shawl over his shoulders and ties it and hurries to the station in a hot rush.

He hasn’t seen her in years and this might be the last chance he gets to see her and he’s scared. He’s terrified because he doesn’t know what he’s going to say to her, he doesn’t know what to say to a dying person, all he knows is that he needs to get to Tampa, he needs to see his mother. He hates her but he’s missed her all the same and he can’t. He can’t stomach the thought of leaving her on her own, of her dying _alone_ , he has to be there. That’s his mother and all of a sudden she’s come back into full view. He seems to be living in slow motion, people moving like treacle, city moving too slowly. His heart is racing and his mind is racing and he can’t stay still as he stands on the subway. His legs are so tired - he’s tired, he’s not sure how he got there. He stumbles into the apartment shaking and nervous and Frank looks up instantly and he knows there is _something_ wrong.

“Dave? What's wrong?" He stands up and barrels towards Dave, holding him upright before he falls slack in his arms, quivering like a rabbit. He feels _weak_ , disgustingly weak, and so tired. He props himself up on his cane, he takes a deep breath and takes his shawl off, hangs it up.

"Is Ash in bed?" He asks in a cold, hushed voice. "Is he asleep?"

"Yeah, he went to sleep really well." Frank smiles at first, but it fades to a look of mild concern when Dave rushes away from him, and over to the computer. "Dave, what's the matter? What's happened?" There's no point in asking if something is wrong because he knows it is. In seconds, Dave is online and searching frantically for something, and Frank can't make out what it is and he's afraid, he's worried. He needs to be answered, anxiety mounting and growing in his chest. It brews like sour tea and makes him tremble almost as much as Dave is. "Dave? What's wrong?" He nearly shouts, but Dave doesn't even seem to hear him and he feels powerless. He's so used to being the big comforting figure that he feels lost and dazed and confused, and he freezes where he is and he feels like an idiot.

"My mom's dying." Dave spits out in a hot rush after what feels like aeons for Frank, and he can move again. "And I have to go to Tampa and Hal's gone, so you're with Ash. I can't take him, I don't want him to see his grandma die-"

"Okay," Frank says calmly. "Okay, um. Are you leaving now?"

"As fast as I can. I need to be there, Frank, I'm sorry, maybe I can leave Ash with someone there, or-"

"I'll look after him, don't. Don't you worry." Frank breathes out. He's taken Ash before, and he can take him again, no problems. Not for this long, but he's a good kid, and this is an emergency. That much he understands. "I can drive you to the airport too if you need a ride, my car's actually here. For once." He laughs nervously, even though it's not the time for laughter.

"Yeah, yeah - thank you." Dave nods, and he looks thankful enough. "I'm sorry for. Leaving you with a toddler all of a sudden, but. You wouldn't wanna be there if you were a kid. I'll... I don't know how long I'll be gone for."

"No, no, _Dave, it's fine_ , I don't have a problem looking after him. Just try not to be gone too long, yeah?"

"Okay." Dave breathes out. "I feel like a fucking mess right now, Frank. I wish. I didn't live so far away, and I don't wanna go, and I'd bring you and Ash but I can barely afford my own ticket and I can't just ask you to come meet a dying woman you’ve never met, and-"

He stops himself in his tracks and pulls on his hair with tangling fingers.

“Dave, it’s okay.” Frank’s voice rushes out, and he sits across from his boyfriend and gently wrestles his coiled hands away from his hair. “Okay, it’s not okay. Your mom might die. But you’re gonna go see her, and I am going to look after Ash and everything is going to be. Maybe not fine but. It’s going to turn out okay in the end, whenever the end is. 

•• 

Ash is in the back seat, only half asleep and whining, and Frank is driving to the airport with the radio on quietly. Dave sighs heavily and texts Hal about the whole situation. 

hal i’m gonna be out for a few days. maybe a week. my mom’s had a stroke and im getting on a flight down to Tampa now  
  
ash is with Frank for now so you don’t have to worry, he’s gonna take him back to your apartment and stay there until you get back, he’ll look after the fish too  
  
i just thought I should tell you I don’t know how long I’m gonna be gone for  
  
but ill let you know closer to the time  
  
is she dead?  
  
no  
  
but. critical condition. she might. and i don’t want her to die alone  
  
if she gets better I’m not letting her drag me in to anything I’m coming back to Urbana for my family dont worry  
  
okay. well tell frank that the fish have to be fed two large carrot slices on Sunday afternoon and they have to be boiled for 20 minutes  
  
he can’t go looking through the tapes in the PINK box (they are collectibles that i think i will sell and having fingerprints on them diminishes their value), he’s not allowed to eat my chocolate chip ice cream unless he replaces it himself and i will be home on monday evening  
  
what is he gonna do about ash childcare-wise?  
  
me and him will be in work during the day  
  
frank’s taking time off to look after him until I’m back  
  
oh, okay :(  
  
i think ash’d just. bite other kids in daycare anyway it’s probably for the best  
  
plus he’s MY baby and i don’t trust him with anyone else  
  
i trust frank he’s been with ash before and youve known him for ages and i’m dumb enough that if he was a serial killer hed have killed me by now. and ash rlly likes him so he’s got to be good and i don’t have any other options  
  
don’t worry about him there are no red flags  
  
between you and me he is the best guy you have ever dated  
  
did i already tell you that?  
  
i think you have  
  
but we’ve been going out for a while now and i trust him  
  
okay I’m still a little scared  
  
of course you are, your son is two  
  
yeah. it’s all gonna, blow over soon though. no matter how it turns out, im gonna be back with him.  
  


Frank finds it funny how the last time he drove through this part of the city was when he took Dave on a date. A lot has changed here since then; the flowers are fading away, and the grass is becoming drab and the leaves of the trees are falling away like raindrops off a gutter. Dave’s flight is at 6am. It was the earliest he could get. But it’s 12am right now, and Ash is tired and angry and he’s not going to react well when he watches Dave leave but Dave couldn’t afford a taxi and this way he at least gets to say goodbye to his baby. It’ll be a little less traumatic, Frank thinks. And he’ll get Ash some hot cocoa on the way back as a sorry. 

Dave packed his things up, for up to a week of staying there plus some money for a half-decent motel, while Frank roused Ash and got him dressed up. It’s cold and it’s early and he wants his comfy bed and he’s _whining_. It’s grating but Frank can understand why he’s doing it. He’s been woken up and dressed up taken out of his bed and put in a car and he’s not sure where he’s going. He must be scared and he must need a hug but he’s too sleepy to really protest it. Fortunately Frank got the baby seat in to the car, as well as some soft blankets, so he might be able to catch some shut-eye. If Dave leaving doesn’t cause him to throw a complete tantrum. 

“You okay back there, Ash?” Frank turns his head back momentarily. Ash only responds in baby language, too tired to make real words an adult could understand. He turns his head back. “Uh, Dave, am I going to be able to call you. If he needs to talk to his papa?” 

“Yeah. Just send a text and I should be able to, but I’ll only be on signal. Quality might be a bit shit but he’ll know it’s me. Hopefully. Oh, god, I don’t wanna leave him on his own-“ 

“He’s not gonna be on his own, he’s gonna have me and I’m gonna take good care of him.” Frank soothes. “It’s okay, Dave. It’s okay. You just focus on your mom, you focus on getting there.” 

“Okay.” Dave breathes out. He’s trying as hard as he can to stay calm and collected but his best isn’t really enough. “Okay, I can do this, I can, shit, I can’t, Frank, _fuck-_

“Dave. Breathe.” Frank puts his hand on Dave’s. “I want you to take a deep breath and think about exactly what you are going to do when you get there.” 

Dave thinks, and some sort of plan comes to him. 

“I think I know what I’m gonna do.” He says, and his voice is much calmer and collected. Frank nods at him, urging him to continue. “I’m gonna say goodbye to you guys, and then I’m going to check in, go through security, have a coffee, call Hal for moral support, mill around the stores for a bit, maybe buy some stuff if I feel like it, get on the plane and get to the hospital.” 

“Good.” Frank soothes, his own voice more relaxed. “Calling Hal and not me?” 

“I expect you to be setting a good example for my son and sleeping.” Dave says with a smile. “Besides, you. Need the sleep, you’ve got a baby to look after, but Hal’s a couple hours behind right now so he’ll get some.” 

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Frank smiles back. “That sounds like a good plan. I think everything's gonna be okay." 

"Yeah, it just might be." 

They're outside the airport in the middle of the night, and it's raining. They're stood under a plinth that stands out from the facade of the airport's complex, held up by tall metal sticks arranged in geometric patterns. Dave's holding his cane and his suitcase and he's so clearly tired. He's not sure if he's going to sleep a wink before the sun rises and he knows he likely isn't. He knows that he's probably going to live until tomorrow night on nothing but coffee and sheer will. Nothing he hasn't done before, and nothing that he isn't going to do again. Frank is holding tiny Ash, who's trussed up in his warmest clothes and hat. 

"Okay, you have your wallet?" Frank asks, and Dave nods. "Passport, plane ticket, phone?" 

"Yeah, I do." Dave flashes them from the pockets in his cardigan, and Frank sighs out. Before he forgets, Dave hands Frank his keycard to Hal’s apartment. "Anything you want from duty free? As a thank you, for taking care of him.” 

"No, nothing I want." Frank wrinkles his nose a little. "Save your money, in case you need it. And call me when you get there, keep me updated." 

Dave nods. "Okay, I will, um. If there's a funeral, you wouldn't mind coming down, and bringing him, right? I feel like he should come. He’s met Jessie before." 

"I will. I don't mind that, I'm taking the time off anyway." 

"I. I should be back by next Saturday." Dave looks up, and he sighs again and his mouth crumbles, but then he breathes in and out and clears himself up. "Ash? I'm gonna be going for a little while. And you aren’t going to see me but you’re going to have Frank, who’s gonna take good care of you until I come back, okay? I love you so much and I’m gonna miss you a whole load, would you like a cuddle?” 

Ash nods, and reaches his arms out. Dave brings him in close and cuddles him, kisses his tiny cheeks. He’s so _cold_ and Dave just wants to hold him forever, warm this tiny bundle of baby up. Ash is too little to be left on his own for this long; he needs his papa to look after him. It’s almost _Winter_ now and Ash will be cold and lonely without someone to take care of him even though Dave knows that Frank will look after his son just as lovingly as he does. 

“I love you.” Dave says to him, quietly as he can. Rocking him ever so slightly, to relax him, because he knows he has to go. “And you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna see me soon, I’m just a phone call away and the moment I see you I’m gonna give you the biggest hug in the world.” 

“Love you too.” Ash looks up, and Dave rocks him from side to side before the baby switches hands to Frank. 

“You’ll put him to bed at eight and-“ 

“For a ninety minute nap in the afternoon with his pacifier, and I’ll feed him breakfast and lunch and dinner, and I’ll give him apple juice and tea and milk, I’ll hose him down every few days and keep him safe from things that go bump in the night. I _promise_ you I will.” 

“Okay. I know you will. I know you’re good like that.” He clenches his hands around his cane. “You’ll tell him I love him and give him kisses and brush his hair and his teeth, and-“ He’s stalling. Frank gets close to him and puts his hand up to his cheek like he always does. He stops instantly. 

“Dave, I know you don’t wanna go, but we can’t just stand here talking about our feelings. I got a cold baby to get to bed, and you’ve got a flight to catch.” Dave furrows his brow. He’s hurting. This is his _baby_ he has to leave behind, his little boy, who he’s never been far away from for the past two years. Frank knows it’s hard but he knows it’ll be harder for Dave to let his mother die alone. He has to give that push, even if it makes him seem callous. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Dave says, barely perceptible on his breath. Not because he doesn’t want anyone to hear it but because he’s trying to stop himself from crying, to be strong for Ash. He and Frank share a kiss, and it puts him at ease. Dave’s not sure if Ash knows what’s going on. He looks down at the small boy, who’s looking up through his sleepy doe eyes. He looks like a cherub, he always does. “You be a good boy for Frank, okay? And I will see you very soon. I love you so much.” 

“Love you, papa.” 

“I love you too. You sleep well, baby boy.” 

Dave disappears in to the airport complex and Ash reaches out for him before his arms go floppy. Frank flips him around for a hug, and carts him back to the car in the rain. He tucks Ash in to his car seat, and the toddler is very clearly confused. Frank knows he wants Dave. He closes the door and sits with the kid for a moment. 

“Where papa go?” 

“He has to go somewhere, to see his mom. But you’re gonna see him soon. And you’ve got me, okay? I’ll give you hugs and make you tea and sandwiches like he does. And soon Uncle Hal will be back and we can hang out with him, too.” Frank says, and Ash doesn’t really have a reply. Frank’s not sure if he’s even really comprehending what’s going on. He knows this is going to be really difficult. “Hey, Ash. How about I get you some hot cocoa?” 

•• 

He knows he probably shouldn’t pump a toddler full of sugar at 2am, but Ash seems genuinely happy - and thankfully, still really sleepy - sipping messily at his cocoa. There’s more plastered around his cheeks than in his mouth. Frank showed off how bad he was at parenting by just putting him on the bench opposite him, rather than in a highchair, but where’s Ash really going to go? He can’t walk. He’s not wearing his leg. The worst he’ll do is fall and Frank knows he’s more likely to fall backwards than forwards because he’s not an idiot. He sits on the couch all the time, how is this any different? 

“What do you wanna do when we get home, Ash? I think we should sleep, I think... I think you probably need some sleep.” 

Ash doesn’t respond. He just sips, and slowly presses his cheek against the table. Exhausted. Frank quietly sips at his own. 

“You wanna go home now?” 

Still no response, but the boy is almost snoring. Frank downs his cocoa, throws away the cups (and Ash managed to empty his) wipes Ash’s face down and carries him back to the car. He straps him in to the car seat and tucks him in with the blanket, and starts to drive himself. With nothing but the rain and the passing street lamps to keep them company. He doesn’t even turn on the radio; Ash is sleeping and he doesn’t need to be woken up by music. Frank feels himself growing tired but he keeps an iron grip on his consciousness as rolling hills pass them by, meadows and flowers and tall trees, car mounted on soft shoulders. They give way to concrete blather and brown skies devoid of speckled, starry lights. Instead of planets and stars, there is neon and halogen and billboard floodlights. 

He pulls up in to the parking lot in Hal’s apartment complex and gently carries Ash up to the apartment. He peels his protective outer layers that kept him warm away, revealing his soft pyjamas beneath. Ash feels himself being tucked in, and draws his leg up to his chest, safely snuggled under Dave’s cardigan. Pacifier in his mouth, orange angora and crocheted baby blankets over his nose, head rested on his tiny pillow. Peaceful. 

When he’s laid in Dave’s bed, Frank is thinking about what Dave would feel like to lull himself to sleep because all he can do is _think._ That solid warmth that cradles him in its arms, breathes slowly, smells like comfort and safety. It makes his head feel grainy, and he always struggles to think bad thoughts when he’s there in bed with Dave. He misses the softness more than anything, the squishy warmth that wrapped around his whole body and made him so unbearably soft. 

He opens his eyes and it’s 2:13 a.m, and he can’t sleep. Neither can Ash, and that’s what roused him. Soft, quiet whimpering. 

“Hey, buddy. Are you okay?” Frank sits up against the headboard, and asks him softly. 

“Papa?” 

“He’s not here, Ash. I’m sorry, it’s just me.” 

Ash understands, and sits up in bed with his arms out. Frank swings his legs out of bed and picks him up, and sits down on the beanbag by the window. He opens the curtains, sits Ash on his lap, and gives him a cuddle. They have a spectacular view of the cylindrical skyscraper just across from them, it’s brilliant light like a beacon. It drowns out the stars. 

“So. I don’t think you understand, but your dad’s not here right now. And you’re not gonna see him for a while. But he loves you and we’re gonna see him soon.” He says, and Ash whines out. A tighter cuddle soothes him, he closes his eyes softly. Or maybe it’s the talking. He seems to be fussier when Frank’s not talking, so Frank lets himself ramble. “You see out there? Normally it would be. Full of stars, but the light from all the skyscrapers makes it so it’s just dark. Even though it doesn’t really look like that.” 

“Frankie?” Ash asks. “Stars?” 

“Oh, yeah, stars? You wanna know about stars? I’ll tell you. They’re these big balls of gas, and they’re really hot, and they’re on fire. And they can be so hot that they turn blue and they’re really pretty, and we have a star too. We call it the sun, and it makes us warm, and it’s really bright. The sun is so bright that if you look at it, your eyes hurt. And stars are so bright that you can see them from just about anywhere if you’re in the right place and you’re facing them. I wonder if other people on other planets can see our star sometimes. I wonder what they think of it.” 

“Where the stars?” 

“Well, Ash, they’re up there. They’re in the sky. And they’re always in the sky. You can see them at night, when it’s dark, but because the city is so bright, it’s not dark anymore. So that’s why the sky looks like that but in stories, in picture books, the night sky is dark blue and it has stars. It should have stars. But here it’s just kinda brown. And that must look really weird to you, I remember it being weird, and then. One night I’m looking at the sky, and I’m really small like you, and all the lights go out and its all blue like in the storybooks.” 

“Story?” 

“Does your dad not read you storybooks? I think he does. He seems like he would, he’s that kind of dad, but I don’t see any here. I never read you any. I feel kinda bad about that. But with or without stories, it must be nice to be small. I can’t remember it. Y’know, you’re just. You’re there. You’re just a little guy, doing things. Having a good time. And sometimes you have a little trouble doing things like, eating, or walking, or not hurting yourself somehow. Cause you - well, not you, but other babies - you get yourself into danger a lot. Like a lot, a lot. It’s kinda weird. But not you, you’re good. You’re just a little person and you’re hanging out with us and trying to figure things out. And your papa loves you a lot for that. I think you’re like a mini him a lot. You do things he does, you give good hugs and you do all his faces.” He didn’t expect to have been talking for that long but he did. Ash doesn’t seem to mind. 

"Love you." Ash smiles and settles down against Frank's chest again. With his hand up, and his mouth curved up into a smile. He's happy there, and Frank tucks him into bed. He sleeps through the night. 


	18. Chapter 18

_**{tw trauma, death references, references to emotional abuse, internalised transphobia. we dealing with it <3 also wanted to mention that if u ever need a summary please ask I will give one! I just do not want to spoil chapters for people that can read and I don’t want to put the summary at the end because people could see something upsetting, it would be better if you could just jump down to comments for one because it puts it at the top of your screen... idk I just think it’s a better idea} ** _

Dave has never liked hospitals. The clean stench of bleach, however watered down, haunted his dreams after his stint in there when he was six. This is that very same one. He remembers being rushed to this very ward, Bobby telling him everything was okay as he cried. He swears it smells the exact same as it did when he was young. He remembers the pain in this very corridor. And then, nine years later, as he rushed down it with sopping wet hair rushing after drowned and dying Bobby, tired himself, lethargic from his own breathless state but Bobby had been an idiot, and he had gone deeper, he had this habit of averting expectations, and- Dave stops himself from crying. It's not productive. What is productive is seeing Ms Jessie Bowman, and bringing her a bundle of sunflowers. When he was older, and she was less depressed, and Dave was still this baby she could hold on to and cradle, she called him her sunshine. The phase didn’t last long but he was a little sickly baby because of his hip and he had to act like it, and he got big, and she gave up on him all over again. It hurt worse the second time. 

He peers over the curtain, expecting to see her awake, but she's asleep. Or maybe further than that, her heart rate is low and her breathing seems to struggle, but she is unconscious nonetheless. He sighs, and he brings the flowers in and sets them up on the empty bedside table. It brings a little colour to her drab hospital room, and her grey hospital gown, and her drab, straggly hair that is slowly fading silver. Hair that is nothing like his. Dave always looked like the senior Robert Bowman. He was dark, and he had curly hair and Dave got his eyes from his father, too. Bobby had the Bowman eyes, but his hair was like their mother's. It was the colour of honey, and it had this beautiful curl to it. When he was younger, people at church said he looked like a little angel. Then they stopped going to church. 

"Hi, mom. Are you there?" He sits down beside her. "I'm here now. I'm sorry I took a while to get here. They didn't tell me until late last night what had happened, and I was at work, and really tired as it was, and I came straight to Tampa, but I got to my hotel room and I passed out. Or I'd have been here when visiting hours started." 

"Dave...?" She mumbles. 

"Yeah, mom. You really gave me a fright with all this, but you're talking, so it must not be that bad." He laughs, and she seems to reciprocate. She understood it was a joke, at least. "How are you feeling?" 

She doesn’t respond to him. Obviously. She can’t talk. She’s not really aware of what’s happening and he feels sick. She just recognised his voice. 

“Ash is with my boyfriend. They sent me a picture of them having fun when I was on my way here, so I know he’s okay. They would’ve come but it’s just. Not a good time for you right now, I bet you don’t want many visitors.” They went to the park and had ice cream. Ash threw bread at the ducks, and he didn’t understand it at first so he threw a whole piece in there. He wishes he could’ve been with them for many reasons. “I’ve known him for a while now, he’s really sweet to me, and he’s just taking Ash in as his own, and he’s really good with him. I love him a lot.” 

He pauses. She doesn’t reply. Maybe she’s too tired, or maybe she’s. About to die, and he’s just disturbing her. He knows she’s always wanted him to get married, so he carries on. 

“Maybe... maybe I’ll marry him.” He smiles. Even though her eyes are barely open. He puts his hand on her’s and it’s so much more withered than he remembers. “And maybe you’d like to come to the wedding. I think it would be nice if you walked me down the aisle, seeing as. Dad can’t do it. Obviously. I think you’re gonna get better.” 

He chastises himself. This is his mother, an arm’s length away, dying, and he’s talking about himself. Even though she’s not talking back. Despite what she’s done even if it’s useless, it doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. But it _hurt him_. She _damaged_ him when he was vulnerable and he knows that. He can’t weigh up whether he *can* forgive her. Even if she deserves it. He’s not sure of that either. 

“You’re not gonna die.” He says, and he’s very desperately trying not to cry. “Cancer couldn’t knock you down and this won’t either. The doctors here are good, they’re gonna take good care of you, I promise. So you’re not gonna die. You’ve got life left in you. You’re gonna watch Ash grow up and I’m gonna get married and you’re gonna be there. You have fight in you, mom, you always have.” 

He lies. Blatantly. Because he doesn’t think that. Because at every opportunity she had she abandoned him and despite the reason for it, it hurts, it burns, it hurt then and it still hurts now even though the wound has had time to heal. She is not a fighter. She is the opposite of that but he just wants her to feel good about herself. Because he feels terrible. He feels like the worst son in the world and he’ll feel worse, for whatever fucking reason, if he doesn’t fan the fires of her ego. He smiles all the same, and he shows her his bag. 

“So. Seeing as you were, rushed to hospital. I think I should tell you about the things I brought for you.” He smiles, even though she can’t see him and he sounds like he’s close to tears, furiously wiping at them with his sleeve. “I brought you a hairbrush, I thought that would be good. And some hand lotion, it smells like roses, you always liked that sort of thing. When we were kids.” 

He pauses. She doesn’t care. Maybe she’s trying to sleep and he’s just disturbing her by being here, by _existing_ like he always has. He was the unwanted one, the unplanned one, the accident. His father pretended he wasn’t, said he loved him, that they wanted him just like they wanted Bobby. His mother told him that he was an accident. His father swung back in with ‘unplanned, yes, but not _unwanted_.’ A surprise baby. He tried to internalise that because it was what he wanted to hear, but it was just too difficult after his mother’s point-blank response to his questions. He knew he shouldn’t have probed, that she was angry at him for whatever he had done that day. He wipes his tears away again. 

_I’m sorry I killed your son,_ he thinks to himself. Even though he’s spent seven years trying to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault, that he knew Bobby chose to swim too deep, that it was Bobby that hauled the compressor out, and told Dave that it was a good idea. It wasn’t his fault. He knows that. But he can’t accept it because he was always the accident. He was the scapegoat when it came to his mother, the accident, the one that ruined the illusion of a happy family because he couldn’t be the daughter she wanted. He spent years feeling selfish for being himself, and he got over it when he left Tampa and it’s all coming back. 

How was he supposed to know it would happen? He was busy drawing spaceships in his biology classes, missing school because he couldn’t get out of bed. They went diving all the time, it was therapeutic for his bad hip, nothing bad had ever come of it before. It was so blisteringly hot that week that even their tanned selves were burning and the filter in the pool had broken and something green and disgusting had backed up into it and had they gone in there they’d have gotten sick. 

“So. Hairbrush, and hand cream, and I. Brought you some flowers and some chocolates too. But I don’t know if you can eat chocolate so I’ll just take it with me - we don’t wanna get in trouble with the nurses, do we? I’d have brought wine too, I know you like wine, but. Well, I’m not sure how they’d feel about that either. When you’re better, we can share a bottle, I’ll get us something nice to celebrate.” 

_I won’t. I can’t stand the thought of being near you right now. Or letting you in to my home._

"Speaking of. The hairbrush, you don't mind if I brush your hair, do you?" She doesn't respond, and he sighs out. Gently, he brushes her hair. His skin prickles like it did when he was a child, when she told him to brush her hair, because he was her little doll, and he had to do it just right. Just like then, not even a smile passes her lips. 

•• 

A thousand miles away, Frank is laying out on the couch and watching TV while Ash sleeps. His door is creaked open, just a little, so he can come out when he’s ready. Frank’s not paying attention to the TV; Ash has him exhausted, and soaking wet, too. It wouldn’t seem, from an outsider’s perspective, that a boy who can’t walk and sits in a stroller can tire you out. But there is pointing, and yelling - ‘there! there!’ - constantly, over rough terrain. Lifting the stroller up stairs and safely getting it down them. 

hey  
  
how’s it going? she okay?  
  
she’s fine for now i think. but i am genuinely fucking exhausted.  
  
i know you are, get some rest  
  
we don’t need to talk. eat something, take a shower and sleep, okay?  
  
i miss you too bad  
  
and my baby. is he okay?  
  
yeah, the little guy’s fine. dried him off from the rain when we got in, he went for his nap really well  
  
playing with the ducks made him really tired  
  
it made me tired too  
  
im making turkey dinos and waffle fries for dinner, does he eat ketchup? i can’t remember im tired as hell myself  
  
we got to sleep at like 3am  
  
we have turkey dinos?  
  
i want turkey dinos  
  
but yeah he eats ketchup  
  
not too much though. he feeds his hair with it, control how much he has  
  
think i might give him a bath anyway, he’s a bit grubby  
  
if im okay to give him a bath that is  
  
yeah should be fine. careful though he doesn’t like water  
  
like a little gremlin haha  
  
i miss you and i wanna talk but you need to sleep.  
  
yeah. agreed. im gonna go get myself something to eat and then sleep okay  
  
okay. text me when you wake up?  
  
i will. look after my baby.  
  
already doing that  
  
i love you, get some good sleep  
  
love you too  
  


He hears something and expects to see Ash has wriggled his way through to the living room, but he’s not there. His head jerks over to the direction of the baby monitor to hear a little whine. He sighs and slouches over to the bedroom, where Ash is huddled up under his blankets and upset. Frank kneels down and peeks under the little tent to see Ash is holding a broken bunny rabbit in his hands. Frank’s never seen it before. Its head has fallen off, the stitches loose and badly done. It’s clearly been loved to death. 

“Who’s this, Ash?” 

“Baba.” Ash pouts. 

“He’s a little beaten up, isn’t he?” Frank tilts his head. “Can I hold him? I can fix him for you.” He’s not the best seamster but he’ll have to do. He has experience fixing clips on binders, and they have to be sewn on industrially. He can fix a little bunny. 

Ash shakes his head. “Don’t touch! Baba _mine_.” 

“I promise you, Ash, Baba is safe with me. I won’t hurt him, I’m going to put him back together, good as new, and be very careful with him. I know you don’t want him to be broken.” 

“Baba safe?” 

“He’ll be safe with me, I promise.” 

Frank lifts Ash off the bed with Baba in his tiny arms. He puts the boy down on the couch and texts Hal. 

Ash’s bunny is broken, where do you keep the sewing kit?

do you have one?

you found baba?

dave’s been looking for him for months.

Ash didn’t seem all that bothered by finding him. maybe he hid him?

his head’s come off

i’m gonna sew it back on

sewing kit is 3rd draw down by the oven

be careful. ash is very territorial and might not like you attacking his friend with a needle

dave tried to sew an ear back on and there were tears

maybe ash hid him so nobody could hurt him?

I’ll explain to him what I’m doing I’m hoping it’ll be fine?

also am I okay to make the turkey dinos

yes that’s fine... don’t burn my house down please.

i won’t

Frank manages to locate the sewing kit and sits down on the couch. He works on choosing thread, cutting, and threading the needle. He leaves a hefty tail and recalls, using his fingers as a guide, how to backstitch. He’s not entirely sure what stitch to use but he knows that one’s the best one, and he knows that he’s good at it. Ash is cradling his mangled friend in his arms, being as careful as he can to keep the bunny’s soft stuffing inside his body. It’s expanded like a cattail’s seeds and the more that comes out, the more distressed Ash becomes. He’s close to tears when Frank pets him gently. 

“Okay, little guy. Are you ready for me to fix him? Can you put him in my hands for me?” He holds his hands out, needle stuck upright in a little pincushion shaped like a tomato. Ash doesn’t budge his hands. “Come on. I know it’s scary to let someone else hold him but I’m not gonna hurt him. I promise. I’ll put his head back on for you, and then you can cuddle him all you want and his fluff won’t fall out. And then I’m gonna make us some turkey dinos.” 

“Don’t hurt.” 

“I won’t. Promise.” 

After a few moments of careful deliberation, Baba switches hands. He’s very soft, the sort of teddy bear you’d buy for a newborn. Frank wonders how he might have gotten his name - was it something Ash said or did Dave choose it to be easy to pronounce? Did he get this floppy rabbit the day he was born or sometime afterwards? Ash holds on to his arm. He’s scared and anxious. Frank puts him at ease by ruffling his hair. 

“Okay. I’m going to start putting his head back on now.” Frank says with a patient smile, and carefully pins the head to the body. He feels Ash growing upset, takes the needle into his hand. He takes a breath, shows Ash the needle, and makes the first stitch. The boy gasps and Frank’s scared he might try to grab the bunny or the needle. It’s sharp and it would hurt his tiny hand and make him cry. 

“Brave.” He mumbles to himself. 

“That’s right. You gotta be a brave boy.” Frank soothes and makes the second stitch. He hopes it’s tight. He makes a third - even, parallel to the first and second. Nice and tight. Thank god. “This must be really scary for you, but just think about how nice it will be for him to be one piece again.” 

“One piece,” Ash repeats, holding on to his side. 

“One piece, kiddo. Just think about that. None of his fluff’s gonna come out, you can cuddle him as much as you want to.” He continues to stitch. Ash watches like a hawk, he relaxes but he doesn’t seem comfortable. When Frank’s nearly finished, he feels Ash writhing uncomfortably. “You’re being really brave, and you’re doing really well and I’m proud of you.” 

He finishes off the repair, closes off the stitches and presents the bunny to the child. 

“Baba!” 

“Yeah. There he is, all fixed.” 

“Thank you, Frankie.” Ash looks up, and he smiles and hugs him. “Love you.” 

“I love you too, little guy!” 

•• 

Dave’s phone rings. 

how’s everything going?

it’s fine.

still exhausted, haven’t eaten much, tell my little boy I love him?

of course

he looked at me and said ‘i know’

damn. ill take that as an I love you too.

get something to eat?

yeah. im starving maybe

gonna be coming home soon, Wednesday I reckon. doctors haven’t said much so im assuming she’s okay?

good, we’re both really missing you

I don’t know I’m so exhausted

get food and sleep, okay?

mmm it’s 5pm, do I look like a one year old?

you’re cranky like one

shut up i am not >:(

okay. maybe you’re right. but i don’t wanna wake up at 4am again.

that made things worse I think

hang on a second, dishing out pizza

im so tired. but i have to keep going until at least 9

maybe ill get room service i don’t feel like walking

but room service... is so EXPENSIVE...

plus it may suck

but I’m just so goddamn hungry. and too sleepy to walk

get the food okay?

ill help foot the bill if you can’t it’s not like this isn’t an emergency

plus how expensive can it be?

i guess. i hope the foods good

i may just sleep. you’re right I think

im just way too uh what’s the word fucking exhausted

sleep.

get food when you wake up, go back to sleep until a good time.

it’s okay to be tired. ash is eating pizza, hal’s coming home soon, there’s not a thing to worry about. you just sleep it off and you’ll feel a lot better when you wake up.

i love you dave

i love you too

He puts his phone down on the bedside table and he lays back, trying to relax. It’s harder to sleep without someone to hold him, without the sound of his son’s tosses and turns and sleeping whimpers. He feels alone and it should be peaceful. How did he sleep like this? Without reassuring noise that’s annoying in the moment but so essential to comfort? Instead he’s alone in a strange seeming hotel room, no baby, no boyfriend to keep him company, no best friend in the other room he can go pester if he feels alone. And he does feel alone. He wishes he had a teddy bear. He sits up and takes his sweater and pants off and leaves himself in shorts and a vest. It’s colder already but his body’s still warm, it seems to prickle against the cool night. He feels sick. He knows he needs food, something to eat because his stomach is screaming out. He doesn’t know when he last ate. He can’t *remember*. He’s too stressed, too tired. Maybe he can order a pizza? But he can’t wait long enough for it to come, he’ll be asleep. 

There’s a vending machine downstairs. But that means putting his pants and shoes back on and getting his cane and _walking_ down there because of course there’s no elevator. But knows he has to take care of himself. That’s what Frank wants for him, even if it’s just a bag of chips, and he has a couple of wrinkly dollars stuffed in his pocket. 

He walks down, somewhat self-conscious of his bare arms, and as he walks outside to the vending machine the heat hits him. So does the tropical rain, warm and sprinkling on his shoulders. He hurries to the canopy where the vending machine hides and pays for a candy bar and bag of chips. Stuffs them in his pockets. He’s so glad he wears cargo pants. 

“Dave?” A familiar, though not _too_ familiar, voice disrupts him. He looks towards the source; it’s Deepali. His brother’s friend, from when he was a kid. They were a clique, at school, the weird swim kids that spent most of their time at the beach, and stank of salt and anklets. “Holy shit, fancy seeing you here!” 

She hurries under the canopy. She’s smoking a cigarette. She looks as hippie as she always did, with her long flowing skirts and crop tops and golden bangles that her mother made. She loved hippie culture, she often wished she lived in the sixties. Dave’s not unhappy to see her, he doesn’t even feel tender about it, he’s just so tired. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, and the tiredness is present. He starts eating the candy bar because he feels sick like he might pass out if he’s there any longer. “I thought you moved away years ago.” 

“I did, I went to college, but I’m back for a little while now. Seeing family and stuff. Yourself? Last I heard you and your friend - Hal, I think, it’s been a while - went off to. Illinois?” 

“Yeah, we moved to Urbana,” Dave explains. “I’m back for my mom, she’s in hospital. I’m going back home soon.” 

“Oh, damn. Is she okay?” 

“Uh. Honestly, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “How’s life been?” 

“It’s been okay.” She says. “I got my degree in forensics, I’m gonna go be a forensic pathologist when I go back to California. My dad says it’s morbid, my mom thinks it’s really cool. Did you ever go to college?” 

“No, I. Just never went, I’ve been pretty badly depressed ever since...” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence, she knows exactly what he’s talking about. He wishes she didn’t. “I had a kid instead, his name is Ash and he’s two.” 

“Where is he?” 

“He’s back in Urbana, with my boyfriend. It’s just me here.” 

“What, are you dating Hal?” She smiles with a laugh. It had always been a joke that they were dating because it pissed them both off to no end. They were just boys that were friends, not *boyfriends,* and because they were younger then they didn’t understand the joke was seeing how angry they got. Looking back, it was a little funny. 

“No! We’re still friends, though. We live together, I pay him some rent and stuff. I’m dating one of his friends from work, we just kinda fell in love, it was really nice.” He smiles. They’re both staring at the rain and the sunset, like the last time they all went camping together. That was the last time he would speak to her, before the funeral. “What about you?” 

“Oh, I got married last year. We’re gonna have a baby soon, we’re on the adoption waiting list.” 

“Good luck with that.” Dave half-laughs. “Kids are hard, adopting one is harder.” 

“Yeah, we know. But we’re prepared for it.” 

“Good.” 

A pause. He finishes the candy bar. She finishes her cigarette, drops it and snuffs it out with her shoe. The rain washes it away into a gutter 

“Dave?” There’s a sudden change in her voice, reeking of concern. 

“Yeah?” 

“What happened between you and Betty?” 

He’s taken aback. He hasn’t heard her name spoken in what feels like a long time, even his brain blocks mentions of her out because it hurts to even admit she exists. That she could be here, that he could be near her, that he could be unsafe. His chest screams out. 

“I think you know.” Is all he says. Mostly because he can’t. Talk about it here. He can’t talk about it, full stop - that’s too much. He feels tears welling up in his throat. “Look. I’m super tired, and I think my kid wants to call me, so I’m gonna have to go. I’ll see you at some point before I go?” 

“Yeah, sounds good.” She smiles. 

He knows he won’t.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay almost nealry done with the playlist 2, i think this bit is like a uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. interlude. I'm trying. ily guys

_**{CW for death, hospital talk, trauma talk.... Dave Bowman Breakdown Moments... also a lot of death/funeral discussion and sappy convenient plot elements}** _

Dave gets a call in the night. 11 pm, when he’s been laid awake and not sleeping. Worried about his mother for whatever reason even though part of him - _fuck_ , a decent majority - thinks that he just needs to leave her behind like he vowed to do, that he’s weak-willed for coming here and leaving his baby son on his own.

“Hi, Mr Bowman?” It’s the voice of one of the doctors, one he’s been talking to about chances of recovery. He sits up in bed. “This is Dr Jackson, your mother’s main care specialist.”

“Um. It’s not, a bad time - what’s wrong?” He knows there is something wrong, and he knows it’s going to be bad. Condition deteriorating. Dead. Dying. He thinks he’s ready to hear any of those things. “Is she okay?”

“Your mother has died. We did everything we could but after you left she reached a critical state and we were unable to resuscitate her.” 

Dave was wrong. He was not ready. The sting those words hold in his chest seems to rip through his heart like scraps of meat, his whole body seems to close in on itself, feel like it’s endlessly falling for just a moment. It feels like he’s suddenly switched, he’s somewhere else but he doesn’t know where. He doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t know how like he’s forgotten how to speak.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Okay.” He says, and his voice is already high pitched with tears. “Thank you for. Um. Telling me. I’ll be there in the morning to sort things out.”

He hangs up but keeps the phone in his hand. He texts Hal. He’s not sure what else to do.

my mom is dead.  
  
okay.  
  
do you need me to come there.  
  
no I’m fine  
  
you guys will be here in a few days, I’m gonna. Sort out a funeral.  
  
im sorry for your loss  
  
what are you even supposed to say to that  
  
I don’t know. It’s just something you say when someone dies  
  
i want a hug.  
  
im in jacksonville and I’ll be about three hours but im going to give you one  
  
I thought you were in California   
  
i was . we came over to Jacksonville to see some family. aunties and stuff.  
  
they’re why we moved from cali remember  
  
anyway hang tight im going to drive over  
  
do you need to call me  
  
i don’t know  
  
call me if and when you need me  
  
hang in there  
  
I will be there soon  
  


He curls up under the blanket and his stomach feels sick, it cramps and twists and the pain radiates through his whole body. His eyes clamp shut as the tears spill out of them, his hands have a white-knuckled grip on the bedsheet. He takes a few laboured breaths, and he’s with his mother in bed and everything’s okay again. They’re at that point in their relationship where she’s accepted he’s a boy, and she calls him her little sunshine Davey. She gives him kisses on the head and gives his wiry little self hugs and hair-ruffles. She’s still not getting out of bed. His father often sighs and says she’s wasting away in there.

And then he’s a little younger. Four, maybe five, soon after the hair-cutting incident. Bobby is at a sleepover and he’s alone in his bedroom and he’s very scared. He’s always had someone there to sleep with him, that he can crawl in with if he needs a cuddle. And Bobby always pulls him in and holds him and maybe dribbles on him and his rag baby a little but that’s beside the point. What matters is the cuddle. His dad is putting him to bed, trying to tuck him and his rag baby in, but he’s frightened, he’s tugging on his father’s shirt and he can’t make words because he’s whimpering and wriggling just trying to get the attention he needs.

“ _You don’t wanna be on your own, do you?_ ” He says softly. Dave shakes his head. His father picks him up and carries him to their bed, along with the rag doll.

He does have a good father. Or he _did_. But it seems like such a long time ago now.

They lay down in bed and his father cuddles him, strokes his hair and his cheek. He nestles into the crook of his father’s broad chest and holds the rag baby tight. “I love you, Davey. You sleep well.”

The doll had a pull string, and it said things like ‘I love you,’ ‘night-night,’ ‘hug, please?’, and ‘kisses, please!’ It was how Dave comforted himself as a child; the soft baby doll that told him he was loved. It’s also likely the reason he was so ready to become a parent. He was constantly snuggling it, rocking it and giving it kisses; that’s what it wanted and he very desperately wanted his dolly to be happy.

He’s laying awake that night with the doll in his arms, his father fast asleep. His mother’s sitting at the other side of the bed and reading, and she doesn’t know he’s awake. He’s scared. He’s frightened, not only of the dark but of her and her fluorescent reading light. He thinks that if he does so much as move, he’ll be thrown out and he’ll have to sleep on his own but he’s also so tired and trying to soothe himself he pulls on the doll’s pull string and it says, in its bright and comforting voice, ‘I love you!’ Instantly Jessie’s eyes switch to him, and he feigns sleep terrified she’s going to make him go. Instead, she grabs the doll, easily snatching it from his tiny grasp, and throws it out the bed. But his father’s woken up and seen the whole thing. 

“What did you do that for? Kid’s just had a bad dream.” His father shakes his head, mildly disgusted. He leans over the side of the bed and retrieves the doll. Dave takes it and clutches at it, nearly in tears, and his father rolls over so the tiny boy’s on the other side, close to rolling off. “Don’t pull on her again, okay? You can do that all you like in the morning.”

His tiny voice lets out a chirp. He can imagine himself as his father, holding Ash just like this. He’s always tried to be like his father.

He knows that his mother was multifaceted and she struggled throughout her life. With all sorts of things, as upsetting as it was. Not only the post-natal depression, and cancer, but things like addiction and self-loathing, suicidal thoughts, depression, PTSD, intrusive urges. Things that he's struggled with too, things he understands. He wishes there could've been some kind of kinship between them. That they could've bonded over these things, that they could've understood one another a little more. But she gave him those issues - she could've broken the cycle, she could've chosen to educate him and she chose the very opposite. Why? Did he deserve that? _Why is everything up to him?_ He wants to be a kid again where he can either love or hate her depending on how she's treated him that day. Where he can hold his baby dolly and feel safe in his bed with his brother at his side, ready for a hug if he crawls in. Without the depression and loathing and guilt that has plagued him, sitting at the back of his head in every waking second, tugging at him and holding him back. 

Maybe if he opens his eyes he'll be in his bedroom. He'll be laid in his little red bed, tucked in up to his chest with a big kiss on his head. His stuffed animal buddies at his side and his ragdoll with the pull string, and his brother will be at the other side in his big-boy blue bed under the covers and reading a book. Maybe all of this is a bad dream and he's going to wake up with a broken hip in the hospital. Maybe he's dreaming and he'll wake up and see his baby son in his arms. Is he sure he's ever really experienced anything? Is Frank real? Is Ash real? Is Hal real? Did any of it ever happen? He doesn't know and he feels sick. Sick to his stomach. He doesn't know what's real anymore. His body is cold and prickly and he’s sobbing again, the motion of his chest pulsing is all he can feel. The air is still and humid around him, he’s slick with sweat and tears, he hasn’t eaten in a while and pangs of hunger cause him to roll up and seize where he is. He might be loud or quiet or _anything_. He can’t tell anymore and he doesn’t fucking care, either, because why should he? Why does he deserve to keep this in any longer?

He’s scared to open his eyes because his mother will still be dead and he will be on his own in a hotel room a thousand miles from home with debt piling upon his shoulders. He wishes he was small again, he grew up too quickly and saw too much of the world. He wishes he had Ash to cuddle, some sort of tiny lump that never questions the bitter sobbing. If he was in Urbana it wouldn’t be like this. His mother would still be dead but he’d have someone to hold him, he would have a shoulder to cry on. In Tampa, he doesn’t have the same thing. In Tampa, he never has. 

He wonders where his doll went. He used to carry it around with him, hide it in his bag when he went to school, he couldn’t sleep without it. It disappeared one day when he was fourteen and it broke him. His mother said that if it really meant that much to him he wouldn’t have lost it. He wants it. He wants it to tell him that it loves him again, in its bright and cheerful voice. He’s never ached more for it since he lost it. This is why he doesn’t think about it very often.

He forces himself to open his eyes. Time has passed, enough time for the storm around his head, whirling in his ears, to calm down. He forces himself up and into the bathroom, eyes bleary and blurry, under eyes puffy in the wide mirror atop the sink. He’s not sure how long he was laid there, curled up and sobbing, but there are dents from the wrinkles of the sheet in his arm, and it’s bright red and feels like it’s throbbing and floppy. He’s still crying a little, the red bags sticky and salty. He undresses and gets himself into the shower. 

The water is cold no matter how much he turns it up and it tastes terrible - metallic and bitter - he spits it out almost as fast as it hits his tongue. He stands shivering under the pathetic, brumal stream for a while, skin tensing and freezing up. He washes his hair haphazardly, stares at his top scars in the slight reflection of the musty glass window. He looks at his face in the mirror across from him and he’s more pathetic than the stream of water raining down on his shoulders. Suddenly, there’s a clunk, and the water stops momentarily before viciously pissing out boiling hot water all over him. Slightly scalded, he can’t get out fast enough.

He dries himself off with his towel, one of his only reminders of home, sprays himself down with deodorant, brushes through his hair. Puts some clean clothes on, throws his old ones in the pile because they're sweaty and covered in tears. He even brushes his teeth before he returns to the darkness of the motel room - the only light the shimmering VFD displaying the time in bright backlit blue. It's 12:47 a.m, it's humid and his hair is drying rapidly. 

He feels better for the care, for rousing himself from whatever the hell overcame him, but also somewhat worse. His mother is dead. His mother is dead in hospital. By now she'll be in a cold morgue, on her own, and he won't see her until tomorrow. He should be there. He should be weeping over her body, not taking a shower after feeling sorry for himself - what's _wrong_ with him? Does he have to make his own mother's death about himself? How can he be so selfish? For once, could he take care of someone else? Selfish. Disgusting. He decides to make himself some food.

He went on a grocery run earlier in the day, after seeing Jessie in the hospital. He remembers the last thing he'd ever say to his mother - _'I love you, mom, and you can make it through this. I'll be here in the morning, sleep well.'_ How ironic. How fucking ironic. At least he'll be there in the morning. He slips two pieces of square white bread into the toaster. Grilled cheese. He opens a can of soda and necks it until it's half-finished, masking the metallic shower water that still lingers on the tip of his tongue. The toast pops up, he spreads butter thinly on the inside, unwraps two slices of cheese. How is he making sandwiches at a time like this? His stomach wrenches, he closes the sandwich. Nothing he can do will make it appetizing but he has to eat it all the same, and he does so slowly and with great difficulty. The cheese is gummy and the bread is chewy - unpleasant, and what he deserves at that. He begrudgingly finishes it, drops the crusts in the garbage because he can’t handle eating them. His stomach twists again. 

How’s he going to handle the funeral? He’s not sure what she wants. She never really discussed that with him, he wasn’t worth that sort of conversation. He grabs the can, sits back on the bed and turns on the TV but he’s lost in thought. He has a few options. He could bury her or he could cremate her or donate her body to medical science, to be a cadaver or her organs. He should ask about the organs and cremate the rest, maybe. He’s always thought that’s the kindest way to go. She could save some other people. Actually, the more he thinks, it’s probably too late for that now, if she wasn’t on an organ donation register, then she’s rotted too much by now. His mother. Rotting. Fuck. 

Donating her body would definitely buy him some more time to buck himself up and make arrangements for the funeral. But he doesn’t want time, that means staying _here_ , in Tampa, and he’d rather be anywhere else. And losing the money he very much needs to repay his credit cards in time. Maybe she has money he can use to pay them. Whether he’s in on that will he doesn’t know. Maybe she’s got it set up so a wax statue in the mausoleum gets the money. What happens then? He thinks he gets the money because he’s the only remaining family member. And her son. 

He thinks a ceremony and cremation is probably the best option. He’ll put out an obituary and get it done as quickly as possible so he can go home, and see his son again. He wishes someone else could do it. He can’t handle this, not on his own, maybe not at all. He’s too tired, he’s. Exhausted, even. He’s not sure what he’s going to do. He can’t pay attention to the TV, but he doesn’t want to go back to sleep because he knows Hal will be there soon. His eyelids are drooping all the same, heavy like weights are attached to them. The light of the TV keeps him just about awake while time passes by him quickly. The grilled cheese seems to rot and turn in his stomach.

Hal knocks on the door, and Dave traipses through the motel room to see his friend hauling suitcases and a bucket of chicken in the crook of his arm. He feels less sick when he sees it and practically falls into Hal’s arms. Hal holds him in the doorway, dropping everything but the bucket, and lets him go floppy. 

"Hey, dude," Hal says softly. "I assume things weren't too bad when I was coming?"

"Yeah. Uh. It was, a little shit." Dave mumbles, and Hal pets his back. "Thank you. For being here."

"You deserve it. I reckon you don't want to talk about it right now."

"They... they told me they did everything that they could. And that she was somewhat comfortable, and I. Guess that's all I could ever really ask for." Dave admits and lets Hal in. 

Dave takes the food, and Hal wheels his suitcases into the tiny alcove, shuts the door, and then falls on the second double bed, lets out a low groan. Then he sits up, slides his glasses down and peels his eyepatch off. He rubs at the sticky residue as his vision doubles a little, blurs around the edges, and he massages the slight twang of pain that sets in just at the top. Dave brings the chicken over, offers a piece. Hal shakes his head, preferring not to get crumbs on the bed. Dave eats it instead.

"Thanks for this. I'm fuckin' starved." Dave sighs, putting a piece in his mouth. He feels bad and offers another piece. "C'mon, sit over here."

They sit together in the early hours of the morning eating chicken in silence. The air is warm and still around them, unmoving and ever so slightly uncomfortable. He wishes he had a fan on. Dave realises he shouldn’t be doing this but he’s too tired to care. 

“How is it?” Hal’s always been quiet in the small hours of the morning. It was almost as if his voice cut out at a certain time, and he regained it when he woke up. Sal was the opposite, she’d groan and moan and the longer she was awake the louder and more intense she got. Unless she was around Hal.

There are good memories of Tampa, and he forgets that sometimes. His father dragging him and Bobby, practically by their collars, to camp by crystalline lakes. Bobby sewing broken clips on his binder, reminding him to wash it and take showers. Sleepovers with Hal, illicit trips down to the store with Bobby during free school periods, swimming out as far as he could in the sea. There were good times and he forgets about them. But he feels that when he remembers those good parts it seems to dim the rest. It always makes him think that he's overreacting, that he's making it all up, and it hurts. So he forgets.

“Tastes fine.” Dave shrugs, then he smiles, and takes another bite. “I hate coping with food but. It helps me feel human.”

“You disassociated?” 

“I just sat there crying for a bit. I think. I don’t really know what happened, Hal..."

"It's okay." Hal smiles and puts a hand on his back. "I think you need some sleep."

"I might, I think, maybe. Need a little sleep."

"Yeah, I think you do." He sighs and slouches, then wipes the crumbs off his lap. "Oh - first, I. Have something for you! Give me... one minute, tops. And get yourself tucked in."

Dave sighs and brings he blanket up to his chest. He feels like he's going to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, but he keeps his eyes open and waits patiently for Hal, who's rummaging through the suitcase. He pulls something pink and pretty out, and Dave's eyes are blurring but he keeps them held open. They’re shut by the time Hal comes over with whatever the prize is, and he’s about to turn over to face the window when Hal tucks it into his arms. It’s so eerily familiar, and beneath its slight musty, _old_ smell, it smells like Bobby and his childhood home. He thinks he knows what it is; it’s his dolly. He opens his eyes for just a moment to see her as Hal dives into the bed across from him. Exhaustion grasps at his head, dragging it against the pillow, but Dave wraps his finger around the pull string and gently pulls it down.

“I love you!” The doll shines brightly, and Dave feels like he might cry again. It’s as comforting as the day he lost it. 

He clutches it tightly. “Thank you,” he whispers, and then sleep drags him under.


	20. Chapter 20

are you awake?  
  
i am now, what’s up?  
  
could you tell my son I love him  
  
he’s asleep but ill tell him when he wakes up? just trying to get some peace  
  
holy shit, he’s sleeping in past 7am? who is this child what has he done with my son  
  
i think the bunny helps  
  
I reckon he’s gonna wake up soon so I’m just creeping around and making breakfast for myself real quick  
  
did you sleep well?  
  
no  
  
thank you for. looking after him  
  
i love you both  
  
is everything okay over there?  
  
doctor called me, last night, and said she’s dead  
  
now i have to sort everything out. and I dont really know what im doing.  
  
how do you plan a funeral for someone you barely know  
  
i don’t know  
  
god I’m so sorry  
  
it’s fine. it’s over now there’s no will she won’t she I guess  
  
it’s not fine dave your mom’s dead you can be sad over that  
  
i promise  
  
i can’t think straight  
  
hal’s here with me and we’re gonna sort it out  
  
you’re gonna have ash on your own a few days longer is that okay?  
  
yeah of course it is  
  
ask Hal to tell me if there are any more directions on feeding the fish  
  
oh um i gave them their carrot slices yesterday, i told him but i guess since he’s with you he never replied  
  
ash thought it was really fun  
  
he really misses you by the way. he’s going crazy without his papa here  
  
and i miss you too. i wish I was there to comfort you and help you out  
  
you’ll see me soon. i want you to bring ash here  
  
ive decided i want him at the funeral  
  
am i coming too?  
  
yeah  
  
awkward way to meet my parents huh  
  
i. I GUESS.  
  
if you need any help or support I’ll be here okay  
  
i kinda. know what im doing with all this  
  
why do you wanna take ash to the funeral  
  
i miss him a lot.  
  
and also because it’s just the respectful thing to do. she sent him birthday cards and Christmas presents. she does love him and in his own little way he loves her.  
  
and if there’s any estate, im going to set some aside for him, so I think it’s best that maybe he pays some sort of respect  
  
is he gonna wear a suit?  
  
no, just something comfy, a little formal maybe  
  
I’ll tell you what to pack closer to the time  
  
which will only be a few days but still. let me clear my head first.  
  
you take as much time as you need  
  
breakfast is here, gotta go  
  
i love you  
  
i love you too  
  


“I think the best thing to do is to make a nice, organised list,” Hal explains, then smiles at the waitress who slides pancakes in front of him. It’s waffles for Dave, even though he doesn’t look very taken by any of the food they’ve seen since coming in here. “That way, we can at least hash out what’s going to happen and then we can attack the problem from there. Thankfully, I have a notebook in my backpack.”

“Of _course_ you do,” Dave says dryly. He looks like he hasn’t slept a wink; his hair’s still a little wet from the shower and is stuck to his head, his face is breaking out from the stress, the bags under his eyes are _dark_ and he has the shortest temper known to man. He takes a long sip of his coffee. “Did you bring my pill organiser?”

“Yes, I did.” Hal nods, fumbles in his bag and pushes it over. Then he whips out the notebook. “I’ll take the notes, but off the top of your head, what do we need to do?”

“Register the death, sort out the funeral arrangements, get Frank and Ash here, have a funeral, and go home before I have a mental breakdown.”

“That gives us a timeframe of about.... a week?” Hal tilts his head. Dave only stares “Three days? I don’t think we can do this in three days.”

“Me neither. I think... I think until Friday would be good. Should be enough. I don’t know, I’ve never planned a funeral.”

“Are we going straight home after the funeral?”

“I don’t know, we’re gonna need time to get the ashes.”

“Ashes?” Hal scribbles down ‘cremation’ under the ‘funeral’ tab in his notebook. “Are you sharing the ashes with anyone?”

“Is there anyone to share them with?” Dave asks blankly. He’s been very blank since they woke up. “I don’t think there’s anyone left.”

“Maybe you could go on her phone and see if there are close contacts, then you have to inform them. Unless her phone’s got a lock on it and then we’re gonna have to cremate everything but her fingers.”

“That’s gross, Hal.” His voice is dry again. “I reckon we could get the lock taken off without having to resort to that.”

“I know.” 

Dave tugs on his collar. “It’s October. Why is it so hot?”

“So, our plan is to cremate her, are we having a ceremony with that? We’re gonna have to put out an obituary. I’ll write it, you can call the newspaper.”

“Why not put it online? I don’t wanna call the newspaper.” 

“She’s old, all her friends will be old too.”

“She was in her fifties, Hal.”

“Exactly. _Old_.” He affirms and scribbles the note down. 

“What are you gonna do when we hit thirty, huh?”

“Frank’s geriatric as it is. You’re basically a gold digger.” Hal shrugs. “Eat your waffles. They have the two main food groups, syrup and waffle, they’re good for you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will be if you don’t eat your waffles. Don’t worry, your mom won’t be ashamed of you for eating.” He sighs. “Eat. The waffles.”

“Okay.” Dave stabs the stack and tries to take a bite. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“I know. But we have things to do.” Hal explains. “You can sleep when we’re done. And then you’re going to therapy when we get home.”

“Fine.” Dave sighs, and goes to press his head to the table, but realises at the last moment that if he does, he will get a forehead full of syrup. He groans instead.

••

Dave slouches as he walks into the hospital because he's trying hard not to cry as he does so. Hal is busy calling Frank, waiting at the bus stop, because Dave wanted to do this on his own. Hal is going to catch up with him after this phone call anyway. There's a loud, older man, shouting at the receptionist - 'it was my god-given right to get called, why didn't you!? Did she die alone?' He is screaming, clearly in pain, and Dave decides to take a seat rather than interrupt him and his rant. Dave sighs out, slides his cane down the side of his sweatpant leg. He picks a few words out the argument. 

"Sir, I can assure you she wasn't alone, her son was here-" Another booming shout - that Dave instantly blocks out - cuts her off and Dave's eyes widen. If this is about him, he might cry. He's dangerously close to the receptionist, who he's sure would recognise him by now... He coughs nervously. "I'm going to call security if you don't-"

"What son? She didn't _have_ a son. Her son died years ago." Dave's eyes widen again, and he takes a deep, staggered breath in. "This is bullshit, you've got the wrong woman, and this is an _i_ _nsult_ to her and everything she stood for."

"Her son's name was in our records, we called him and he came." She interjects. "I understand this is a shock, maybe you can find her son and talk to him."

"Bullshit, this is fucking bullshit." He spits, as he sits down next to Dave, shaking his head. He turns towards him. "They're saying my girlfriend had a son, and that's why they didn't call me when she had a fucking stroke. Even though my name's in the records, as her partner."

There are a lot of things he could say, but he doesn’t know what to say. "I just. Lost my mom to a stroke last night, could you. Not?" Dave mumbles. 

"Sorry." He says, after a pause. "But first she's dead, and now she's got some son I've never heard of? I'm scared they've got the wrong woman. Jessie was. She was healthy, she was fine, and then I leave and last night, I get a call she's dead? It's crazy."

This confirms Dave's worst fears, and he doesn't know what to do or say. This man clearly doesn't believe he so much as existed, but at the same time, he knows he's going to have to say something and be decent. He takes a very deep breath out. "Um. If you don't mind me asking, what was her last name? If it's not, uh. If you can say."

"Bowman. Jessie Bowman, why?"

"That was my mother's name, Jessie Marie Bowman, and her maiden name was Parker. So that's either a crazy coincidence, or she never told you about me because she was a raging bitch who wished I didn't exist." He lets his real thoughts spill out a little, and the man beside him looks shocked. But he's opened now, and he can't stop. "I can guess what she told you. She had a son named Robert, and he died in an accident, she had a husband who was an astronaut who died soon after. And then she never told you about her second son, because she blamed me for Bobby dying and I fucking knew she didn't mean it when she said sorry."

Dave stands up and leaves to go to the receptionist. The man looks stunned for a second, but Dave's already thinking of what to say to the receptionist. He doesn't know how to phrase it - 'Hi! My mom's dead, what do I do now?' He sighs and decides he might have to ask just that. They have a quick conversation about it, and Dave finds out what he's supposed to do. He has to call the mortuary to pick the body up and tell family and friends. The man's still sitting, lost in thought when Dave taps him on the shoulder.

"Do you have her house keys? I need to tell her friends and stuff. And arrange the funeral and. I have a lot to do." He stands, and Dave leaves the waiting room, beckons over to Hal, who runs over with his notebook in his hands. Busy making funeral arrangements, or doodling ways he could absolutely ruin a funeral. 

"Who's this?" Hal says, slipping his notebook under his arm and sticking his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants, trying to seem cool. His prescription sunglasses and four cups of coffee mask the fact he's had three hours of sleep. "Is this your secret dad? Why are you so _old_?"

"I'm. I forgot to introduce myself, I'm John." He shakes Dave's hand. "Willis, John Willis. I dated your mother for three years."

"I’m Dave, this is Hal.” Dave introduces them, and he feels he might fall over on the concrete and fall asleep. “Uh, question. My son was born two years ago, where were you when she came to Urbana?"

"Well, we weren't very serious for the first year or so. And I remember her taking a trip, she never said what it was for.”

“She never told you anything about her life, and you were just fine with that?” Dave knits his eyebrows together. “Yeah, that’s why I got called instead of you. _Damn_.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but we haven’t slept much.” Hal shakes his head. “Until about 2 am, I was in Jacksonville. Okay. That’s not right.”

“Point is, we’re tired. Anyway, um. Can I have the keys?”

“Where’s your son?”

“He’s with my boyfriend.”

“I thought he was your boyfriend.” John points at Hal. Hal bursts into peals of laughter. “Is there something I’m missing here?” 

“Hal is not my boyfriend, we’re just friends. My boyfriend’s back in Urbana with my baby. Please. I need the house keys so I can sort things out.”

“I think there’s a better way to do it.” He replies, and Dave is intrigued.

••

"We sort out the funeral, he sorts out her life. I think that's a good deal, and it stops me from going too insane." Dave shrugs. "I think we should go for it. I think it's decent of him, at least." He looks over to John, who's waiting pretty impatiently for the drinks machine. "I also think being tired makes all of this. A lot more manageable - I mean, look at me, my mom died last night, and I'm too jaded to care."

"I think the fact that she had a boyfriend and told him that you never existed. Is also helping you feel jaded." Hal nods, sipping at his bottled water. "But you're right, he's more familiar with her personal documents, and that means you won't have to risk going near. You know who."

"I've been having nightmares about seeing her, Hal. I don't know what would happen if I did, I. I saw Deepali the other day, and she asked. What happened between us, and I've felt.... genuinely unsafe here every since. Because, _God_ , I can't explain it, but I've got this bad feeling that she knows I'm here, and it's only a matter of time before I see her."

"I think that's just the trauma talking. Of course, you'd be scared about seeing her, but Tampa is four hundred and fifty-five square miles in size, and has a population of nearly three million people - what are the chances of seeing her?" Hal explains, and Dave laughs. "What? I read the little travel booklets that they give you at the airport. It has fun facts."

"You _learnt_ them." Dave giggles. "You're right for the most part, but the chances are higher - she knew Jessie, she was a fucking suckup, and Jessie liked her. She'll come to the funeral if she finds out."

"Then we make sure that she doesn't find out until we are long gone. We make it invite-only." Hal takes another long sip. "I don't care if it's 'mean,' if you see her you are going to flip her lid, I'm going to say something very embarrassing, and if Frank's there, he'll probably swing for her."

"Frank's never seen or met her."

"He'll know," Hal says cryptically. Dave's sure he doesn't mean it, but it can't help but come off that way. 

Dave sighs and sips at his lemonade. They put too much ice in it here, and he wishes he had it in a sippy bottle as Hal does. Or like Ash does. They've always put a lot of ice in. His father said it was because of the heat because the summers used to be even hotter than they are now, but his mother always said it was to skimp on the juice. Dave used to be thankful for it, but he's sure they put more syrup in the back when he was a kid. Maybe it's sweetener now, not sugar. John returns to the table with his drink and food, shirt unbuttoned at the top, salt and pepper hair starting to messily drape around the sides of his head. Hal puts his head down and starts to scribble something in his notebook - rather sheepishly - to avoid the man across from him. He slides in next to Dave, who's looking out the window on the landscapes of his childhood. He went to the bathroom about twenty minutes ago to cry and his puffy eyes haven't quite recovered yet, and his eyes are downcast. He seems to be the sort of man that doesn't cry often. Dave doesn't know what that's like. 

"How are you doing?" Dave tilts his head. He hates how much John looks like his father. "I mean, you don't look like you're doing well."

"I've been a lot better than this." He sniffs, then sucks it up a little. "It's just. It's very sudden, it's a shock to the system. You seem to be doing pretty well. With all of this, I mean."

"I was a mess when they told me." He shrugs, then drinks again. Definitely sweetener. "And I'll be a mess when I get a good night's sleep too. But enough of that... did she have any explicit wishes for a funeral? I mean, she clearly didn't tell you much, but. Did she at least tell you that? It'd make my job a lot easier."

John blows a piece of hair out his eyes, then leans back with his drink. "I'm still getting over that, my god... I can't believe she lied about her family. That's a shock too, I'll tell you." His words are slow, pronounced; it's difficult to think about her, to dredge up sweet memories already turning sour. The sudden death changes a lot as it is - the fact she had a son, who was alive, that he didn't know about... it's jarring. It sends prickles down his body just thinking about it. "...To answer your question, we always considered ourselves young... it's not something we ever thought about. She liked to think she'd live forever."

"Well, I was thinking of cremation. That way, we can both have ashes, I think. I think things are more personal that way. Instead of leaving her in a mausoleum, or to rot in some swamp somewhere." 

"Okay, agreed. And if you sort that out, I'll call her friends and such." 

"John, go home. Go sleep and cry for a bit until you're ready to deal with things. We have some time, I think, maybe I'll find a funeral home and arrange for the body to be transported, and then. I'm going to sleep myself." He snatches Hal's notebook (and Hal is too tired to notice this, flopping down against the table), and scribbles his phone number down on a new sheet of paper. He folds it up and passes it over. "Call me when you're ready, we'll talk things over. C'mon, Hal."

Hal slunks behind him, half-asleep, reminiscent of a stroppy toddler to the point Dave thinks he might have to hold his hand and _drag_ him. Thankfully, they get on the bus without much incident, even though Hal does fall asleep, and Dave looks out the window. He recognises so much here; the facades of buildings, the smell of saltwater permeating his hair, the way that the sea air wafts in when the bay is exposed. It's October, midway to winter, and people are sprinkled across the beach, playing in the sea, having a good time. Splashing, surfing, swimming, drinking cocktails in the middle of the day, laughing. Sometimes he wishes he could've raised Ash here, or somewhere similar, where he could've been free to do as he pleased. Of course, he wouldn't've let his toddler near the sea and unsupervised - what the _hell_ were his parents thinking? - but it would've been nice to see him play in the sand, splash in the water... maybe in another life. He's still not very good around the water. 

The bus dings and he's rudely interrupted from his reverie; he realises then that he was sleeping too. There is work to do before he can let his guard down, and he rouses Hal to bring him back to the motel. Hal falls asleep as soon as he hits the freshly made beds, and when Dave sees his, it's all a bit too much. His baby doll has been carefully tucked in, and in the daylight, her smile is as warm as it ever was. He can't work right now, he finds himself sinking towards the bed slowly, holding the doll and facing the breezy mesh screen, and slowly, ever so slowly, falling asleep...

He wakes up to a few missed texts from Frank.

  
hey davey-baby

slight problem issue i am thinking of

you don’t have to answer right now or anything 

but I!!!!! Am concerned

i need. A letter in order to be able to take ash across the country with me

basically you saying. hey. this dude isn’t abducting my kid.

it needs to be notarised and stuff and I can’t do that for you because yknow im the dude taking the kid across the country in question

it won’t be hard I can get someone to do it but I need your signature and all that.

ahhh sorry for being so difficult

it’s not difficult

good evening... I slept through the day again

how are you feeling?

not good  


some fucking bullshit happened earlier

wanna tell me about it?

apparently. my mother had a boyfriend

which in itself doesn’t bother me

we never. spoke much after I left

but she. acted like I didn’t exist to him

she said she only had one son. who was dead.

oh that’s fucked up that’s not right

well frank, who’s dead now?

your approach to this with dry humour makes me very confused at times but it seems like you’re coping

im not but I’ll break it all down in therapy

okay

i wish we were there... it would also be easier to give ash a Bath if you were here

whenever I take him out and put him on the towel he starts scooting

i can’t catch him he gets water everywhere and I have to scoop him up with another towel

why does he need so many baths

he has his own lil way of getting messy

i miss you too, i miss. cuddles.

i miss them too

i miss you a lot

it feels empty without you and Hal here

it’s weird. for it to just be me and ash

i had to go feed Jennie yesterday she’s this cat from the duplex I live in

and i brought ash cause. nowhere else to put him.

dave. Dave she GOT IN THE STROLLER with him I got out the door and I heard a mew and ash just had her on his lap and he was hugging her

it’s good you’re taking him out

you sound lonely

what tells you that? i’m good actually. i have a 2 year old to talk to

and some fish

it was just a feeling

are you guys eating good?

yeah we’re livin the life. turkey dinos, waffle fries, ham roll ups cucumber sticks. if it’s toddler food i’ve eaten it in the past three days

no mayo tho :((

i miss ur mayo

ok that sounds REALLY WRONG now I’ve said it sorry

i miss the mayo you make in a BLENDER with EGGS and OIL and not whatever that message implied

pfft it’s okay I thought it was funny

and im glad you miss it i will make you some when we get home

nah if i have to eat any more sticks of vegetable i WILL cry i don’t like vegetables dave

oh do NOT teach my son vegetables are poisonous you will eat every last one!!!

besides maybe you can put some in your kickass sandwiches

that made me blush...

i love you okay?

i love you too :)  


Dave lays awake in bed for a while after he puts his phone down against the bed, and he holds the doll in his hands, and he thinks of Ash. Ash would love her. Dave can almost see it, his tiny son yanking on the pull-string and smiling as he held it close. Dave pulls it in close, strokes its soft, soft hands. It's very clearly a baby toy, for the tiniest of babies. Something you give to a newborn, and as far as Dave knows, he received it as one. Well-loved, its feet and cloth onesies patched up time and time again, its sweet smile remaining after all this time. Hal is still asleep, but like a guilty schoolboy, Dave hunches over, wraps his finger around the pull-string, and pulls softly.

"Night-night!" She clamours, her voice so happy, bright and shining. Dave's whole body seems to burst into butterflies. Something good from his childhood. She makes him feel so safe, and _calm_. Calm even now, even in all this. He pulls her in close as if to protect her. She's a little small but feels enough like Ash did when he was a newborn himself, and that's soothing. Not oddly so, it makes a lot of sense for her to be so. He sighs, cuddles into her again, and he's just about tired enough to fall asleep again.


	21. Chapter 21

**_{CW I talk about nudity in this chapter and make some references to sex. i don’t describe it or talk about sex in detail it’s just references and some feelings surrounding it and a character Is naked but I don’t talk about what he looks like. Also, there is alcohol mentioned, it’s a general chapter abt his trauma meaning references and mentions of s/h, sex and alcoholism. the worst part about this chapter is that Dave is triggered by something and I go into a lot of detail with the senses there, there are references to aspects of the trauma but if you’re sensitive to that sort of thing then skip to the end of the chapter where there’s a picture of a kitten (so you can’t see the previous writing, depending on your screen) and a summary. this was very difficult to write in places esp the descriptions of him being triggered - if something feelings-related seems weird that’s because it’s something I’ve experienced and im just kinda putting that stuff in to words here. that’s a rule for this in general tbh}_ **

Frank is watching the rolling landscapes as the plane comes down on to the runway. He’s been watching them for a while, it’s strange to see how small everything is down there. Fields, and cities, houses, and farms; all of them have rolled past slowly like intricate models in someone’s basement. He looks over at Ash, who is very asleep, pacifier in mouth, and trussed up in blankets, holding his froggy and his Baba in his arms. It was hard to get him to sleep here. The bag and the stroller are in the overhead, suitcase in the cargo compartment with some clothes and Frank’s razor and Ash’s baby pen. They’re both very tired, but Ash has the ability to fall asleep here. Frank feels like he could but he’s far too anxious.

The captain says something. Frank’s too tired to pick it out, he spends the announcement fussing over Ash’s blankets and checking he’s good and asleep. He’s trying to think of how he’s going to balance a toddler and teddy bears and a stroller and a bag when the time comes to get off. Thankfully they’re near the back of the plane, there aren’t many people behind them but he has to carry the stroller down the thin walkway, and a sleeping toddler and his teddy bears... He waits a moment, peers over at the signs, and pulls the bag down from the overhead. He knows there's not long left of the flight, and retreats back down instantly. Debates for a second, sighs, shoves the frog in the bag.

"Sorry, little fella." He mumbles at the frog, stroking the face that peeps from the side of the backpack before he zips it up shut. It's heavy and numbs his lap as the plane lands, and the dinky models of cities he's been dawdling over for the past few hours suddenly become life-sized. His sleep-deprived self feels like it's shrunken.

Getting Ash off the plane is a jumbled challenge - and not to mention a complete ballache to the people behind him - but things become a lot easier when he's able to pop the stroller to life and strap Ash in. He's so glad the tiny boy's still asleep; he can't imagine doing all this and balancing a toddler not deeply encumbered by slumber. He readies passports, and with a little effort, he's out of the airport. With one huge step out the way, and a heavy suitcase behind him, heat hitting him, he mentally congratulates himself. This was never on his bucket list but it's been a nice experience nonetheless. He perks up when his hot sweater's around his hips rather than on him, he thinks idly about taking his binder off while he waits for the bus. It's been on for a while now, and he's tired enough to feel like it's choking him. He resolves to take it off as soon as he can, but wheeling Ash on to the bus and anchoring him in the pushchair seat is more important. 

Palm trees and dreamscape Floridian facades drift by as the rickety bus shuffles cool air over him. The sun's low in the sky, turning a deep ochre, and his eyes drift shut until he hears Ash cry out for the frog. Frank rouses, takes a breath and pulls the frog out of the bag for the boy to fuss over. He gives him a patient smile and Ash settles back down, lured by his fluffy frog's soft singing.

Dave's waiting outside the motel, anxiously looking around because he can't wait to see his son. He hears the roll of the wheels on the cooling asphalt and his heart drops in his chest, as well as warmth building up and melting the chill that has settled over him after the week from hell. Frank's own heart races in _his_ chest, and he finds himself speeding up. They meet in the middle of the cobbled court and find themselves holding one another tightly. Frank's as warm as ever, still big in the shoulders, radiating softness and sweetness and calm and safety. Nothing has changed in the days they’ve been apart, except for maybe just how tired Dave is. He feels safe there, and Frank does too. Even though Dave's tiny; he's not big, safe, foreboding to all that pass him by, having him there makes Frank feel like life is normal. And he smells pretty good, too. Like butterscotch and teenage boy deodorant.

“I missed you.” Frank smiles, running a hand through Dave’s hair. The other hand is balancing and rocking the stroller where Ash is sleeping. “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you more.” Dave smiles, and it becomes clear to Frank just how exhausted he is. His eyes still shine, his smile is still sweet as honey but he’s paler than he ever has been, he’s got bags under his eyes, his words come out slowly and he seems floppy. “And I missed my baby too.”

“Shhh, he’s asleep.” Frank sweeps his hand to the side of Dave’s face, cups it gently. “But he’s missed you too.”

“I’m cold - you take the suitcase, and I’ll take the stroller.” Dave smiles, taking hold of the bar and swinging the stroller around so they can go back inside. 

Up in the room, Dave plucks Ash out the stroller, folds it and puts it with the suitcases. He finds himself laying down in bed, peeling away the excess layer of puffy jackets until his son is visibly comfortable in his t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. Just like his papa. Frank sets up the baby pen, gently tucks the frog inside, and comes to lay down, where Dave already seems to be asleep. He presses Baba into Ash’s arms and lays down the other side of him, stroking the side of his face with his thumb, running over the stubble that grows on his chin and up to his sideburn. He hasn’t shaved in a few days. Frank hasn’t either, but he’s got a lot more bush to show for that. He _could_ grow a beard. He could, maybe. He could pull one off. His mom used to say he’d be a handsome lad with a beard but he liked the feeling of having to _shave_ too much to ever do it.

He remembers his binder is choking him and sits up to face the wall and relieve it of duty. It ends up on the floor, he lays back down and cuddles up. More comfortable; his chest breathes for the first time in a few hours. It’s so humid here, he feels his hair puffing up. He can’t stay still. He turns over and eyes the pills on the bedside table. He should put his own prescriptions next to them. It would be romantic in a weird way. Unless they got them confused and then Dave would be extremely chill and get an extra dose of T, and Frank would be doped up on codeine and anti-insomniac medication and heavy-duty ibuprofen and proton pump inhibitors, which would be very fun. Or it probably wouldn’t and it would disagree with him or he’d have to keep stealing Dave’s codeine, and Dave would get weirdly bushy and wonder what was going on for a bit. It would not be a good idea. Why can’t he sleep? He’s so tired. He wants to cuddle up and feel safe with Dave and give him kisses on the forehead.

“Can’t sleep?” Dave says, sitting up and holding Ash, who’s grasping on to him through sleep. “You’re thinking.”

“I’m... too energised to sleep.”

“Ash is gonna sleep better in his crib, so I’m gonna tuck him in.” Dave nods, and it falls on Frank who’s too tired to really register it. “And Hal will be here soon, he’s bringing food...”

“You should be the tired one, not me.”

“Actually, I’m doing pretty well for a man who’s just planned an entire funeral.” Dave sighs. “I imagine I’ll be out like a lamp the _second_ we get home.”

Dave puts Ash in the pen, slipping Baba into his arms, and returns to bed, where it is safe and warm. He lays under the thin blanket and invites Frank there too, but he’s too tired to move. Dave tucks him in instead, and snuggles up to him, resting his head on Frank’s collarbone. Frank snakes an arm around Dave’s waist, holds him tight. There is silence there for a while, the air still as Frank finds himself calming slowly, feeling a lot more tired. His eyes are heavy and he closes them but he doesn’t sleep. He’s too busy relishing in how Dave is there, held against his side, hair fuzzy and puffed by the humidity, chin scratching against Frank’s skin, but so welcome there. Dave presses a soft kiss to Frank’s collarbone. 

“I love you a lot, you know that?” Frank mumbles. 

“I _do_ know that. And I love you too.” Dave responds, his voice soft and soothing, the opposite of what would take Frank out of the sleepy state he’s in. He notices it’s raining outside, that warm tropical rain that brings the smell of dirt into the air. It’s a little colder now, Frank’s thankful for the blanket. “You hungry? I am.”

“Starving.” Frank sighs. “Have you eaten today? Ash has eaten, he had some. Crepes or something while we were at the airport. And stole the strawberries off mine. And I gave him some candy on the plane, but he passed out anyway.”

“He’s like that.” Dave smiles; Frank’s eyes are still closed but he can feel the gentle crescent waxing against his skin. “He steals my juice all the time, he thinks anything sweet is for him.”

“That’s not true, he gave me some orange slices the other day. I think it was more out of ‘I don’t want to eat this anymore’ but he did share.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s a good boy.”

“Yeah...” Frank sighs. “Y’know he can stand up on his own now, with the prosthesis... Without the baby walker. He can’t walk well without it but he’s doing better.”

“I didn’t know you were still teaching him to walk.” Dave sidles up to him a little more. 

“He wanted me to,” Frank explains, running a hand over the side of his face. “He asked about it. He said he wanted to do walking, so we did some walking."

"Did you take pictures?" Dave looks up, his voice soft and maybe even a little desperate. "It's okay if you didn't, I couldn't expect you to."

"I did, actually." Frank smiles and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He flicks to the pictures and shows Dave pictures of his son, proudly standing upright with a bottle in his hand. Sweet things that are for him, just like Dave said. "Then we had strawberries."

" _Thank you._ " He whispers. "For doing this, I mean. And I know I've said it before, but... I think you deserve to hear it. You've looked after a kid for a week and you're not even his dad, I... I can't thank you enough. And I hope that I don't have to do it again, either..."

"Hey, don't worry about it. He's a good kid." 

“I know he’s a good kid. He’s _mine_.” Dave says, voice breaking, and Frank can tell he’s close to tears. “God, I’ve missed him so much...”

“You can come cuddle him if you want, I don’t mind. Pick him up right now and bring him to bed.”

“No, no, he. Deserves a good sleep, I’ll snuggle him when he wakes up.” He wipes the tears away. Frank sighs and curls arms around him, but Dave tears himself away. “You need to sleep too, okay? I’m gonna go do some work.”

“I don’t want you to go, and you’re too tired.” Frank pulls him back down, and Dave doesn’t fight it at all. He snuggles up and takes the scent of his boyfriend in. “Please, Dave, god knows I’ve missed you long enough.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

••

“I don’t think you look too bad.” Frank smiles, shaking himself off from the shower. 

Dave hasn’t been near a naked person for a long time - it might have been years since he’s trusted someone like this. In ways that might be considered physically - maybe even _sexually_ \- intimate. Is nudity inherently sexual? He’s not sure. When he sees nudity in art it’s different to this. Frank has always been different to him, he’s always been caring and kind, and Dave’s been glad to have him around but simply seeing him naked makes Dave feel almost frightened. Why is that? Is it because he’s a prude or because he’s been abused? He honestly can’t tell sometimes. 

He cracks a strange sort of smile, involuntarily, because he doesn’t actually know how he’s supposed to react to it. He trusts Frank. Frank isn’t going to hurt him. They aren’t going to have sex. Nudity doesn’t mean sex even if he always links them together. He reminds himself of these things but he feels strange unrest rising up in his chest. Frank pulls a towel up around his waist and starts brushing his teeth.

“You don’t look like you’ve not slept in days, I wouldn’t worry about it.” He says through the motions of the brush and a mouth full of frothy toothpaste. It dribbles a little. 

It’s not sexual, yet Dave’s still uncomfortable here, and what makes it worse is that he knows he needs to stay. He’s standing in the corner of the bathroom, away from Frank, even though he knows this wouldn’t be the best place to hide if he was in danger. He’s not in danger. He knows that. Or maybe he is. Maybe he can’t trust Frank and he’s just been playing perfect boyfriend to get him vulnerable - right now Dave couldn’t say no, he’s _frozen_ -

“You okay?” Frank tilts his head a little and another dribble comes out, which he frantically tries to catch before it hits the counter the sink is in. If he had some kind of covering over his chest Dave would find that adorable and yet he can’t. His bare chest looks just enough like Betty’s that he’s genuinely afraid. He tries to calm himself and block out the similarities but the memories are flooding back. “Dave? Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Put on a shirt.” He stammers out, and he feels terrible for it. Frank shouldn’t have to put on a shirt, there’s nothing wrong with his body. It’s perfect. It’s good. He looks _good_. Dave thinks he’s attracted to it, even. But he’s still afraid of it. It’s real. It’s there, in front of him, and he could touch it but it could hurt him like she did and he’s _scared_ , and-

“Oh - right. Okay. I see, uh. I forget I have boobs sometimes, does it. Make you uncomfortable? I guess you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“No, no, it’s, just-“ He can’t even talk, but Frank giggles at him instead.

“Oh, I see how it is. Too hot to handle?” Frank raises an eyebrow, still laughing a little. He turns and Dave sighs in relief. Frank puts the shirt on. Dave’s still shaken but he feels marginally safer. “You want a hug or a cold shower?”

“A hug would be nice,” Dave says, quiet as a mouse. He’s so fucking pathetic. Frank cuddles him, and he’s still warm and safe and soft and Dave _f_ _eels_ safe. It’s not Frank that’s the problem. It’s _Dave_. “I’ll tell you about it... later.”

“Seems pretty open and shut to me.” Frank teases. “You like boys, huh?”

“Um. Yeah. Okay, do you- is Ash dressed?” Dave’s breath shakes. Fuck. 

“I don’t know if he is.” Frank smiles, cupping the side of Dave’s face. His expression suddenly turns to that of grave concern. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t... I don’t know.” Dave lies through his teeth but Frank doesn’t seem to notice. If he does he chooses not to pry. He holds on to his boyfriend nonetheless and lets Frank rock him until he’s calm, or at least calmer. He feels a little like a teddy bear for a moment and it’s comforting. Dave kisses his jaw. “I love you a lot.” 

“Dave, can I. Tell you something?” Frank says, and Dave’s heart drops in his chest. He nods all the same. “I haven’t told Ash about what’s happening today, mostly because. Well, I don’t know how to tell a toddler. About death, I could do it to a kid, I could say his grandma was dead, but. He doesn’t know what death is. And I don’t know how to describe it, I don’t remember how my own parents told me - I just. Knew what it was all of a sudden.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’ll tell him, I didn’t expect you to.” Dave sighs, relieved, and Frank squeezes him right. “I can tell him, I had it planned out anyway.” 

“Okay.” Frank gives him one final squeeze before pulling away. Maybe he’s not so confident about Dave’s reaction to his naked form as he seems.

And that suspicion is right. Frank’s acting confident again but he’s not. What was wrong with him? He tries to chalk it down to something easy when Dave leaves the room. Maybe seeing a bare chest makes him dysphoric - after all, Dave had top surgery relatively young, it’s got to be some kind of upsetting for him. And he’s never been this uncomfortable when he had them covered, so he doesn’t think it’s wrong, it maybe. Dragged up memories to see a bare chest that wasn’t flat, or it caught him off guard. Or maybe it’s because he was aroused and not sure how to act, which is what, at that moment in time, Frank thought it was. It doesn’t feel like that anymore. They’ve never discussed sex, not much, even if Frank tends to think about it. Maybe Dave is thinking about it too, and they’re both too embarrassed to talk about it. _Regarding Dave._ He could understand it, if that were the case, he understands his _own_ embarrassment over it, especially because he’s not clear on what Dave wants. He can’t put into words how he’d feel if he knew Dave didn’t want him in that way, or if he were to be repulsed by it. Disgusting comes to mind but doesn’t fully encapsulate the feeling. He reaches for his binder and pulls his chest flat, then covers it with his vest and a shirt. The crispest shirt he owns, thanks to Dave.

Ash is cuddling up to his father when Frank joins them, having regained composure and pushed his feelings to the back of his head. His toes flick around in socks, tapping at the ground as he moves the tops of his feet around the twirls in the carpet. 

“Frank, could you bring me froggy?” Dave asks. “He wants his froggy.”

Frank brings the toy over, Ash grabs at it, and Dave motions for him to stay nearby. Ash isn’t really paying attention, just snuggling with his frog blankly. He looks dapper in his comfy little chinos and baby-sized shirt, wearing two shoes for once; one on his socked foot and the other on his prosthetic. It doesn’t fit the best on the blue, plastic leg, but he can’t feel it. They’re tiny and strappy. He looks the part, hair brushed and angelic curls dressed, and Frank burns with a strange sort of pride over it.

“So. Ash. We’re going to go somewhere today.” Dave begins, and he gets his son’s attention by scratching under his chin. “My mommy’s gone to sleep and she’s not. She’s not gonna wake up.”

“Why she sleep?”

“Because she was very old and she got very tired, and then she fell asleep. It’s called dying, and when people die they don’t come back. They’re gone forever.”

“You can wake her up?”

“No, no, she won’t wake up. When you die, it’s not like when you wake up in the morning. She’s not going to come back, we’re not ever gonna see her again.” Dave shakes his head, pawing at his tears. Ash wipes them away too, tutting like Dave does when he notices Ash crying. “Oh, I love you.”

“I know.” He nods. He tucks his frog into Dave’s arms. “Is froggy, for you?”

Dave honestly tries to stay strong, but he’s a puddle of goop when that inevitably fails and his family holds him. Frank clutches him, stops him from falling over, and Ash rubs his face into his dad’s chest and pretends to be the frog, cheering him up by babbling and smiling. He lets himself cry for a little while, feeling too weak to control himself, and he falls against Frank who is strong and powerful and comforting. Ash wipes away the tears again.

••

The wake is cold. Jessie left nothing but bitterness and awkwardness between the people that knew her. Like she turned them against one another in her mind games - one final stage for her amusement. That is what Dave thinks. He thinks he’s more bitter than anyone else here, and everyone else also has something much more potent to drink than he has. He can’t drink a drop of their whiskies and sangrias because it would get him blackout drunk, and it could make him start drinking again. To think he hasn’t got a _modicum_ of control over himself-

“Are you okay?” Frank asks quietly. He joined in on the not-drinking part, and Hal disappeared because there were too many people. There’s nothing here but a slight murmur and bustle around them; people eating food and drinking and. Exchanging thoughts over Jessie. To some degree. 

The stroller is by the door. Dave wonders how long would it take for Dave to grab Ash from Frank, run over, strap him in and leave. Would he be noticed? Would people run after him? Frank would, but he wouldn’t mind that. John might. He would mind that. But if he ran, Ash would be startled and he can’t deal with the tears right now. He can barely keep his own under control. 

“Do you want another drink?” 

“Uh. I think I’m good.” Dave’s choking back the tears. He thinks for a second about burying it with something strong and then desperately snuggles his child to destroy the thought. 

“Papa?” Ash looks up. He’s so tiny, and his smile’s so pure and sweet. “You crying?”

“No, baby, I’m not crying.” Dave clasps him a little tighter.

“We go home?”

“We’re not going home right now, but we can go home soon.” He soothes. 

Ash babbles away at him, while Frank thinks furiously about what to do. Dave doesn’t want to be here. He’s clearly _afraid_ of something here, and he wants to leave as quickly as possible. He has the feeling it has something to do with Hal being gone but he hasn’t got the guts to leave Dave on his own and go search for him. It would be much better for Dave to have someone with him constantly, rather than none. 

“I love you.” Frank smiles, thinking Dave might want to hear it. His hand reaches for Dave’s, and Dave squeezes his hand twice. _I love you too._ “We can go if you need it. I can just tell John you need to go, he seems cool, and I think he’ll understand.”

“No, no. It’s gonna be fine.” Dave sighs out. “I want to be here.”

“If it gets too much, you’ll tell me?”

“Yes.” Dave’s response is quiet and unassuming. Maybe even unconvincing, but Frank chooses to ignore that. 

The food comes. To Dave, it’s bland and tasteless and he drops his fork after a few forced bites. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to eat here, he’s not sure why he even ordered food and wasted the money. It wasn’t much but it was food nonetheless. He toys with the meat, prodding it with his fork like a child would. Definitely not setting a good example to Ash, who seems to have a better grasp on what to do with food than his father. Put it in his _mouth_ \- though he does get some around his cheeks, and Frank wipes it off with a napkin. Frank does a lot more looking after than Dave does in those few hours, but maybe that’s what has to be done. 

He ends up talking to John, while people are standing and lamenting in little groups around the room. He’s holding Ash - Dave is the only person on his own.

“The whole thing was crazy.” He laments half finished drink in hand. “One day everything is fine, the next I’m getting called and she’s dead.”

“Were you not. Concerned when she didn’t text you or call you?” Frank tilts his head. “Dave got called out of work last Friday.”

“We’d had an argument, Thursday. I don’t know if you ever knew her, but she was petty, it was better to. Leave her and then she’d come back and talk a few days later. Otherwise, she just got mad.” He says with a slight, forlorn smile, and wipes a brewing tear away. “Horrific timing.” 

“God, that is terrible. I wish he’d have known about you, or the other way around; things. Could’ve been easier for everyone.”

Frank never knew Jessie but he’s surprised at just how much of an input she seems to have on the people around him. She’s got everyone wrapped in a predicament, especially Dave and John who are broken by her death and downright furious because her manipulation allowed them to hurt each other. His family was never like this. His family would never be like this; he’s never had to cut anyone off, tragedy only brought them closer together. He looks over to Dave who’s sitting tentatively on his chair, nervously rubbing fingers over the handle of his cane, and he can’t wait until they can go home. He’s seemed so uncomfortable here, he feels unsafe, all his memories are coming back to him. At least Ash is safe.

“You’re right. But what’s done is done.” John sighs. “I can’t believe it myself. Not the fact that he didn’t come up, but. How she said she only had one son who was dead, and then to discover I have all this _f_ _amily._ ”

Frank’s uncomfortable then. He doesn’t feel like family - maybe Dave does, or Ash does, but he’s not family. Neither is Hal. And thinking about it, Dave wouldn’t let himself get close enough to be called family. He doesn’t let it show but he does let it get to him.

“Where’d that lad with the eyepatch go?”

“It was a bit too much for him, he left. I think it’s the same for Dave too, I think he’s having a hard time of it.”

“He lost his mom, of course he is.” John supplies a concerned, sympathetic smile. “Unless Jessie had more kids I don’t know about, he’s the only person in his family left.”

 _But he’s got me, and Ash, and Hal_. _He has family,_ Frank thinks to himself. If not family, people who love him. He doesn’t say this to John’s face, only responds with a tactful ‘mhm.’ He presses a kiss to Ash’s ear, and rocks him from side to side.

A woman Frank doesn’t recognise walks over. She’s maybe a little taller than Dave, wearing a tight black dress that falls down to her knees and a blazer over the top. She’s perfectly coiffed and Frank can tell she hasn’t been crying - hell, maybe she isn’t even sad.

“I’m really sorry for your loss, John. How are you feeling?” She presses a sympathetic hand to John’s arm, then looks over at Frank. Her face changes to a slight look of confusion as she tries to place him and Ash. She clearly knew Jessie or was involved in her life. “You are...?”

Frank’s caught on the spot. He doesn’t say anything - John does for him.

“Well, that takes a little explaining. Jessie had a son she said never existed.” John shrugs, and her face falls to a slight look of horror and then snaps back. “I didn’t think it was true at first, but he knew so many little details, and he had photos he showed me of when they were younger, well. He was, the hospital and him on record and called him.”

“You’re not Dave.” She stammers. 

“No, I’m not. I’m his boyfriend.” Frank says slowly. His arms tighten around Ash. He thinks he knows who she is. She’s the words Dave has written that haunt him every night before he goes to sleep. “I don’t know who you are but I think you should go.”

“It’s a long story, sweetheart, you wouldn’t know about it. Dave doesn’t tell people about that kind of thing.” She advances closer to him, a kind of cosset in her voice, and she gets closer to Ash, too, and Frank isn’t having it.

“Don’t touch me, don’t call me _sweetheart_ , I don’t know you.” He pulls Ash back away from her, and he stumbles on his words but he’s intimidating enough for her to back off. He hates the fact that he’s intimidating but Dave and Ash don’t see him as such and that’s what he cares about.

“Okay, _what_ is going on here?” John tilts his head. “Betty, please. You seem to know much more than I do about all this and I think we all deserve an explanation.”

“Dave left when he was eighteen, and it was really painful for Jessie, so we decided it would be better to... Pretend he never existed. It started as a joke, I didn’t know she. Hadn’t told you about him, I think she took that a little too far.”

Despite the fact that the story is clearly bullshit, Frank is thinking furiously. Where has he heard that name? Then he realises who it is, and he connects the dots in his head. Dave’s only mentioned her once but thank god he remembered it, he has to keep her away from him - _f_ _uck_ , how’s he going to do that?

“...Right,” John says slowly. Frank knows he doesn’t believe it either. They share a sideways glance. “So you knew Dave when he was here?”

“I did, yeah. We were friends. I was his brother’s lady friend for a bit - Bobby was real, Dave probably wouldn’t tell you that, he’s always been a little unstable.”

Frank can feel his blood boiling in his veins but again he won’t let it show, not even a scoff. He doesn’t want to make a fuss but he wants her to leave. _Unstable_. He’s not _unstable_. Dave’s the voice of reason when he’s not upset. He’s smart. He’s brilliant. He’s not what she’s reducing him to. Is this how she plays it off? _I didn’t damage him, he’s just unstable. He’s lying. He’s always been like this._ That’s bullshit. Dave doesn’t lie. He’s always been honest. He’s a good man and Frank’s disgusted he’s being dragged through the dirt - to cover _her_ ass, no less.

“Who’s this? Is this you and Dave’s son? Never thought he’d want to be a dad.”

“Well, he’s a really good dad, he always has been.” Frank chides with a smile, trying not to seem too venomous but definitely showing it in the way he grits his teeth and pulls Ash away from her. “And since when has he been unstable? I don’t think I’ve ever noticed that, and I’ve lived with him a while.”

“Oh, he’s medicated now?” She raises an eyebrow. “I thought, with his - er, _habits-“_

“Just admit that you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank says plainly. “Y’know, you’ve come here, to his mother’s funeral, and talked shit about him behind his back - I don’t want to hear it, and I think it’s better that you rein it in.”

He thinks he handled that well.

“I knew him longer than you have, I know what he’s like-“

“And I think you’re lying.”

“What do you have to _prove_ that, though-“

“And _I think_ the both of you need to stop arguing over this. Whatever did happen in the past, I don’t think it’s relevant now, I mean - I’ve spoken to Dave, and he’s a good guy, he’s a good dad,” John looks over at Betty, nervously. “It’s best if you drop it, I think. This is my girlfriend’s funeral and it is just _not_ the place to argue.

“I agree.” Frank nods, and he’s glad it’s over with. 

“Betty, why don’t you go get a drink? You seem really riled up.” John smiles, confidence regained but still seeming like he’s in bits. She leaves for the buffet table and Frank sighs out.

“I’m gonna go talk to Dave.” Frank smiles, and Ash is certainly thankful to be back with his papa. Dave seems a lot better, and he holds his son tenderly, and he lets Frank hold him too. 

“I think. I think I wanna go.” Dave says to him softly, even though he sounds like he’s tearing up. “I’m tired.” 

“We can go if you want. I’m gonna go tell John and get the stroller, okay?”

Frank walks away, and Dave is left on his own with Ash. “We’re gonna go back to the hotel now, and papa is gonna have a nap because. He’s very very tired.” He makes an exaggerated yawn, and Ash paws at the side of his face. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“Yeah!” Ash calls out and cuddles up to his dad again. “Where Frankie?”

“Frankie’s gone to go get your stroller so you can maybe take a little nap too? You’ve been up for a while, but if you wanna sleep in the baby cage you can.” Dave explains to him, while Ash paws at his face. 

It occurs to Dave that he’s forgotten to shave, and little specks of stubble are starting to show up around his chin and the side of his face. He couldn’t take a razor to his face in this state. 

He spots Betty out the corner of his eye. 

He couldn’t bring a razor near himself at all.

All of a sudden it comes flooding back to him but he remains eerily calm. Outwardly. Ash doesn’t even notice anything is wrong with Dave, but his palms are sweaty, his heart is working overtime, his body’s _aching_ , throwing sickly-sweet urges at him, anger, violence, _pain,_ and suddenly a bone-chilling freeze overcomes him and his core and he’s left transfixed on a point in the wall where he thinks the paint’s chipped but his vision is just about blurred enough he can’t tell. He feels a warmth by his sideburn but he can’t associate it with anything until it’s too late. Always too late.

“Hey, Dave, it’s been a while.”

It’s a normal sentence, but Dave Bowman hears the voice of Betty Schultz and he is a seventeen-year-old boy again. He is afraid, alone in every way, his forearms are stinging and his throat is slowly welling up, closing so tight he can’t breathe. He feels like he’s falling, his chest is closing in on him like the walls are. He doesn’t say anything because fear alone grasps at his vocal cords and holds him hostage. He plays it off like he didn’t hear her and his hands shakily run themselves through Ash’s hair. His son babbles at him. He makes some sort of affirmation back at him but his ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton, as if he’s been thrown underwater because he can’t breathe steadily. Every breath is a laboured struggle against the panic pressing down on his shoulders. 

“How have you been?” She asks as if nothing is wrong. “God, you’re. You’re a lot different now. I take it you got top surgery, you’re on T, everything you used to talk about when we were together.”

He feels his stomach churning. It all flashes in front of his eyes. The body she laid her hands on, the dirty things she whispered in his ear while she took advantage of his innocence, his grief, his vulnerability. Every facet of him was laid out clearly in front of her to do as she pleased with. He feels disgusted in not only what he was but everything he became. The feeling of being fetishised and reduced to an object permeates his being again and not a single syllable can escape his lips without his throat collapsing to become a throbbing mess of tears.

 _No, no. It’s fine,_ she thinks - or rather, he imagines her thinking. _He’s lost his mother. Maybe he’s feeling sick._ She never chalks it up to her own actions. Maybe she doesn’t know what she did to him. Maybe she never knew it was wrong; he never spoke, how could she have known it was hurting him? Eighteen is not a magical line to maturity, and actually, their relationship could’ve been entirely passable had Dave been a mature seventeen-year-old. But he wasn’t mature. He had lost his brother, his father, his mother had become absent. He was hurting. He would take anything to fill the void. It could have been anything but it turned out to be sex, self-harm, and alcohol. Endless feelings that brewed in his chest, that drag him down every day and hold him back from doing the things he knows he should be doing; sex and alcohol, namely. He knows those feelings are normal. They ramble about that in sex-ed - _you’ll begin to have urges_ \- but he represses every single one for the sake of the woman breathing down his neck.

He doesn’t respond because he has nothing to say to her and his chest is screaming and he doesn’t know what to do. She shouldn’t be here, it feels like a desecration of his mother. His whole body panics not only at the presence that freezes him but at how embarrassing it is he can’t choke up even a word for her. Isn’t he strong? Isn’t that his selling point, that he can carry, and carry, and carry, and still keep going because he’s already got so much shit on his shoulders? His chest crushes his lungs and he shakes and a storm is raging around his head like he’s been thrown in a cyclone. His soul threatens to tear from his body, trapped in endless vertigo, unable to feel his fingers, panicking for reasons he can’t pinpoint anymore all the while the sex plays out in front of him. Betty taking advantage of him, her words rattling around his head, _falling harder, falling deeper - all things she said, words that haunt him in his dreams -_ and he screams but he knows nothing comes out and he doesn’t know who he is, he’s not sure if he’s Dave, or David, or Louise, and his lungs are catching on his diaphragm and the storm rages harder against him and he wants to run but his legs don’t work anymore. 

He doesn’t say a word to her, and nobody knows why.

Next thing he knows, he’s on the bus home and Frank’s got an arm looped around him. He’s shivering but his breaths are a little easier now - still cloying, almost as if his airways were coated with butter to help them down easier. The storm that was thundering around his head has quelled but he still feels like he’s trapped just beneath his own skin. He presses his cheek against Frank’s shoulder. He missed the warmth, the slight scent of cologne and the safety of the man he loves. The sight of his happy, babbling toddler cuddling with his froggy in his stroller, kicking _both_ his legs because he knows they’re both there now. When he feels Frank holding his hand he feels the panic slipping away. He feels himself coming back, little by little. 

[](https://imgbb.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA I LIED!!! SEVERAL KITTENS AND A BIG CAT!!!!!! this is your thanks for getting through this. i know its really messy and maybe even unnecessary in places, but i kinda started writing. and i debated leaving some of it out but i found them to be important. they make it more. authentic. also because I'm venting through dave a little and why not go the extra mile and reflect my real life experiences in this... if its too much tell me, i can post an alternate version and keep a link to this one somewhere.  
> here is the summary:
> 
> frank arrives in Florida with Ash and there's a gay little reunion scene where they kiss and sleep. in the morning dave sees frank naked and becomes uncomfortable due to his trauma, and there's some mental discussion over that (he feels. ways about it. also frank isn't sure how to interpret his reaction etc.) they go to the funeral which goes fine, but dave is in a bad state, and when he sees his abuser betty he experiences flashbacks and has a panic attack because she talks to him. the end. <3


	22. Chapter 22

  
When Dave sees his bed - home at last - he could never have imagined how welcome it would be. He sighs out when he sees the rolls of fabric and the soft pillows, and when the sweet scent of his comforter hits his nose. Even imagining the way his mattress moulds to him and cushions his hip puts the pit of pain in his back at ease. The darkness makes it all the easier to want to drop on to it, but Ash is whining and needs to be snuggled and put to bed. There are teddies to round up, a sweet little boy to wriggle some comfy pyjamas on to, warm milk to make and stories to be told and lullabies to be sung. Dave rises to the challenge, sets his hangups and his back pain aside, and gently lifts Ash out of the stroller. He hasn't been doing that often since Frank's been around, but he'd rather get Ash to bed as soon as possible.

"Hey, little guy." Dave croons to him, and Ash seems to calm down quickly when he knows Dave is there, and they are home. "Come on, it's bedtime."

He doesn't protest much while Dave dresses him up for bed tenderly, relieving him of his leg. He brushes through his hair and wipes the sleeve of his sweater around his mouth so he's at least a little clean before he sleeps. He doesn’t talk as Dave - noticeably, jarringly stiff - tucks him in, or kisses him goodnight, and he doesn't beg for a bedtime story, but he makes a happy little chirp when Dave strokes the side of his face and gives him another kiss goodnight. Dave gets undressed into something more comfortable behind the divider, and when he comes around to get into bed, he smiles when he sees his son’s already asleep.

“ _Fuck!”_ Frank yelps as he pulls the suitcases into the hall and drops them. His arms are burning from dragging them home; he shakes his wrists off and guiltily smiles as Dave chides him for being noisy with a flashed glare. Then a smile. He doesn’t really mean it. He talks in a much more demure voice “... Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Dave sighs, rubbing his own back to soothe the burning pain right at the bottom. It’s not very effective. “What took you so long?”

“My arms hurt. Also, Hal called to ask what I wanted, uh. He asked me to ask you what you wanted.”

“I don’t really want anything. I’m exhausted.” Dave sighs. “Seriously. Way too tired to eat.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll tell him.”

“Are you gonna leave?” Dave asks quietly, in a moment of vulnerability. He needs someone there other than Ash. He’s still torn up over everything. 

“No, I’m gonna stay here. I have to go to the bathroom first and get dressed. And brush my teeth, things like that, but then I’ll be back. Promise.” Frank offers a reassuring reply, and in a few minutes, he is back in a vest and shorts. Dave’s able to lie down in bed and pull his comforter up to his chest. “It’s nice to be back here.”

“Who’s been looking after Jennie?”

“Oh, her owner’s girlfriend came around to do it. I’ll be back on it tomorrow. Maybe you can come and meet her? Ash really likes her.”

“I’d like that. I love cats.”

“Dogs or cats? I like both, I had a lot of dogs when I was a kid, but cats are good for when you don’t wanna. Y’know, talk.”

“The closest I ever really came to a pet was a spider I kept in the back of my closet. I put him in a jar with some holes poked in the top for air, replaced a cap full of sugar water for him now and then until he died one day.” Dave sighs. “I miss him.”

“You didn’t have a gerbil, or maybe a fairground goldfish?”

“Mom was allergic to sawdust and pet hair, so that meant. Basically, no pets. And I think Bobby had a fish before I was born ’cause we had a fish tank but there were never any fish in it, just algae.”

“That’s a pet, I guess. It’s a living organism.” Frank suggests. There’s quiet for a moment as Dave shifts into his arms properly, as Frank’s arms curl around Dave’s waist. He gets caught up in just how soft Dave’s skin is - he’s shirtless and maybe a little embarrassed about it, but definitely not ashamed. Frank cradles him. “Are you sure you’re okay? ’Cause I’m going back to work in a few days, so is Hal, and. Are you going to be okay on your own?”

“Yeah, I am.” Dave nods. “Of course, I’m. I’m gonna grieve for a while, over this whole thing, y’know. I lost my mom and all that. But I’m not in a dangerous place.” 

“Okay,” Frank murmurs, brushing his hand against the side of Dave’s face. He cups it a little. Dave kisses his palm. 

“I’m gonna see a therapist.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think it’s time and I’m. Going to sort things out now.” 

"Okay..." Frank mumbles, and Dave presses a kiss to his brow that makes him smile through his waxing sleep. "Goodnight, Davey..."

It's nice to fall asleep at home, and nicer being tucked away in Frank's arms. Dave finally feels like he can fall asleep and not wake up with some emergency nipping at his ankles. He's grateful for it, and soon he's asleep and peaceful with the man he loves.

\--

The waiting room is very modern and sterile but the plants are supposed to give it a warm, welcoming vibe. Dave sits there anxiously anyway, waiting for his psychiatrist to call him in and talk to him. It's been a good few years since he's talked to any sort of psychiatrist, and this one's a doctor that can add pills to his ever-growing menagerie of medications. He has the letter he wrote months ago that details it all in his pocket, and he's listening to music to keep himself calm. Everything happened so _fast._ One day he was talking to his doctor and a week later he's got an appointment with someone who wants to sort him out. He thought maybe he'd have time to prepare - he's still sore over Jessie's death and now he's back in Urbana and feeling better, he's ironically feeling worse.

In Tampa, there seemed to be some thin veil over him that kept him upright and coping. It muted everything he was feeling; he cried, of course, he was upset, but he seemed to be handling it well. Since he's come back, it's been lifted, and he's been crying over pictures and he's gone off food again, much to Hal's chagrin. He's feeling a lot over Bobby and Betty again, too, like those wounds are as raw as they were when he was younger. Maybe he forgot what it was like to be in Urbana, with his head feeling clear and his mind feeling safe in the company of the family he's made for himself. Maybe they've always felt like they're new and bleeding and more salt's being poured on them the longer he thinks about them, to the point his mind only produces flashes of the memories before it cuts off completely. They still leave him shaken, he never desensitises to them no matter how many times he thinks of the same picture, where he’s laid on the bed in the dark, binder constricting his chest, and-

He misses Ash. Ash is with Hal at home and is probably busy watching TV or pressing his cheek against the fish tank. He stares at the plants that hang off the shelves as his breakfast whirls into a pit in his stomach.

"Dave?" His psychologist, a woman with tan skin, dark hair, and a broad smile, beckons him into her office. His hands are surprisingly tight around the handle of his cane and he gingerly takes a seat where she motions him to. "Hi, I'm Dr Fletcher, but you can call me Caroline if that makes you more comfortable. Do you prefer Dave or David?"

"Um, Dave. Dave is good." He nods. He pulls the letter from his pocket and rubs his fingers over it. "Um, where do we start?"

"Wherever you want to." She explains. "Generally, during this first session, you tell me your life story. You don’t have to tell it in excruciating detail, but I want to know where you think everything went wrong.”

“I wrote a. Thing about it a few months ago. Because I have trouble talking about it.” He mumbles, suddenly embarrassed by the precociousness of doing so. He hands her the letter all the same.

She spends a while reading it and he’s left alone with his thoughts. He palms his cane and runs his fingers over the strap. Sweat lubricates the glossy handle and his hands swim over it with ease. He has a headache from the lights and his shoulders are tense, his back is _killing_ him, and his head’s a little fuzzy from the painkillers. He smells a plant; he’s not sure what kind but it’s earthy and rich and it smells like green. At least they’re real. The clock ticks, he can’t count them because his brain keeps looping numbers around, but there’s a lot. The paper swishes three times before Dr Fletcher places it on the desk. He hopes his handwriting was easy to read. He almost doesn’t want her to talk.

“A lot happened to you when you were younger.” She says after carefully deliberating for a moment.

“That’s not even the half of it, that’s just my. Teen years, I think. I haven’t read it since I wrote it.” He’s shivering - why is he shivering? His cheeks have gone hot and his chest tightens. 

“What made you write it? I know it was because you can’t talk about it, but what made you write it _then_?”

“My friend did. He said it would be a good idea.” He blurts. “I had a nightmare, about it, and that whole day, I was. Blurry, because. Nightmares always screw me up, and he said I should go to therapy and write a letter because I don’t talk about it. Not even to him, the only reason he knows is that he was there, my boyfriend doesn’t even know. I can’t tell him.”

“And why did you choose to come now? So long after you wrote it?”

“I. I didn’t want to go for a while. I was putting it off because I hate bringing it up, it ruins my whole day, I can’t bear to think about it longer than a few seconds. I see things that remind me of it - any of it - and I feel like I’m. Falling, and I start crying and I try not to, but I can’t stop until it’s gone.”

“Why’d you make the appointment now, of all times? Are you ready to be here?”

“My mom died three weeks ago.” He breathes in sharply. “I had to go to Tampa, where I was born and I. Lived there until I was eighteen and me and my friend left, but I had to go back and. I saw my ex-girlfriend at the funeral, and I had this whole panic attack, and my son was on my lap and he saw the whole thing and. I can’t let that happen again. He’s very young, he’s two, but he’s smart, he knew something was wrong, he was pulling at my face and saying my name and I just blocked him out because I was frozen solid, my boyfriend practically had to drag me to the bus station.”

She seems unfazed by the way he babbles, the way he plays with his hands anxiously. It puts him at ease. The grip he has on everything loosens off a little, and he feels safer. 

“Where do you want to start? You’ve got childhood trauma too, we can start with that, or we can start with the most traumatising things that you’ve dealt with. It’s your choice.”

“Little things first.” 

It’s useful to be there. They talk about his mom’s postnatal depression, and how that affected him. He makes it clear he knows that’s not her fault - she tells him he’s allowed to be upset. He was a baby. He did need to be protected, and shouldn’t have been left on his own. If his mother couldn’t have done it, his father should have stepped in and helped. Bobby should not have been taking care of him. It’s not much; so much has happened and it’s all dramatic and traumatic and depressing. But it’s a start. He knows a little more than he did before he came. He feels a little more justified. But at the same time, he also feels humbled. He’d always put so much weight on his dad being the perfect, ideal father, and when he was there, everything was good. Tiny Dave was taken good care of. But he should’ve stayed. He should’ve listened when Dave was begging him not to go because he didn’t want to be on his own when Bobby was at school.

It’s a start. 

••

He’s staring at his mother’s urn with clamped down hands and pent up tears welling in his eyes. It’s a thing of beauty and decadence, covered in gold leaf and swirling lacquer, and he’s put it on the windowsill where the prettiest skies set. He doesn’t mean to be crying but he is anyway, he can’t really help it. He’s put lilies in a vase to her side, they were always her favourite. He and Bobby used to present her with a bouquet of them every birthday and Mother’s Day, even when they were very small. Lilies represent a lot of things. Purity, sweetness, but also death. Which is wonderfully fitting.

He’s alone in the house, having stayed home after knowing his half of the ashes had arrived. John has the other half in an equally sacred spot, and Dave finds himself feeling continually worse because he _hated_ his mother. For years, he resented her because of what she did, and how she reacted. He begrudgingly showed her Ash and with her telling John he didn’t exist, it seems the feeling was mutual. Then she was on death’s door and he was in Tampa and he loved her again. Just for a little while. Just so she wouldn’t be alone - if she had survived, would he really have been closer to her? Would he have tried to be? Would he have called her every now and then like he was supposed to? Visited her? Would Ash have made her Christmas cards? He doesn’t know.

He wants to hold his son. All of this reminds him of one terrifying thing; one day, he’s going to leave Ash alone. He’d never thought about it before, death has always been some faraway concept to him. It has never been something at the forefront of his mind and it is holding him hostage. He will die. He will leave tiny Ash alone. He’s scared of it and he wants to forget about it and go back to being unconcerned about it because it’s something that happens to other people. Not him.

He’s older than he was a few weeks ago.

The door opens and in comes a cacophony of voices and movement. Frank with the stroller, and Hal with shopping bags. Ash is crying and Dave comes over to pick him out of his stroller and soothe him. 

“He’s sleepy,” Frank explains, irritated by Ash’s crying. “And for whatever reason, he won’t sleep in the stroller.”

Dave feels like he’s underwater but he hears him all the same and brings his son to bed where he gets a little quieter. He slips his son’s prosthetic off, tucks him in, and kisses him on the head. 

“You’re okay,” Dave whispers, tucking a teddy bear into the boy’s arms. Ash stops crying. “I’m here now. You’re just gonna take a little nap, and then papa’s gonna wake you up when you’re all rested up, yeah?”

Ash nods in response.

“You know what Uncle Hal brought home for dinner?”

“Got fishy.” He mumbles into his teddy bear. “It’s red.”

“And you like fish a lot. So papa’s gonna make you some nice fish for when you wake up, does that sound good?”

“Yeah.” Ash nods. Dave kisses him on the cheek. “Bye-bye.”

“Bye-bye, baby.” Dave croons. ”I’ll come and get you soon.”

After a few moments more of kisses and cuddles, Dave returns to the living room to find it a lot more peaceful than it was before. Frank’s fiddling with the stroller and trying to put it away, and Hal is putting the groceries away neatly, organised by type, expiration date, and how much he likes them. Dave takes Frank’s irritated hands off the stroller, flicks it up until it becomes manageable, and tucks it away in the closet at the end of the hall. Frank pulls him into a hug. The good kind, where the other person envelops you, squeezes your shoulders tightly so you feel better but not so much it hurts. He wraps his own arms around Frank’s waist, and obviously, it’s not as good but it is a hug.

“Ash said you got tuna steaks.” Dave looks up and whines a little. “C’mon, they’re a bitch to cook. They get all stuck to the pan.”

“I’ll cook them,” Frank suggests, making Dave melt by cupping his face.

“No, I’ll do it, I was only teasing.” He presses a kiss to Frank’s jaw, where the stubble brushes against his lips. “Thank you for taking him out.” 

“You needed it.” 

••

They’re laying in bed, and Dave doesn’t know what the time is but he’s tired and he can’t do so much as close his eyes. They’re so heavy, but whenever he shuts them they flicker back open within a few moments. He lays paralysed and thinks about a book he read and hated a few years ago, just before Ash was born. Frank mumbles, stretches, yawns and slinks an arm around Dave and it takes him out of the train of thought completely, to the point he can’t remember what he was thinking about, and he certainly can’t go back there. His hair sweats, but if he weren't under the blanket it would be cold, and he’d be shivering. He is shivering. He’s shivering, and his eyes are leaking, and his chest feels empty and fuzzy, it falls down and coagulates to a pit in his stomach. He thinks about being hospitalised for a few seconds. What that was like. Then he remembers Betty and he stops thinking. He tries to block it all out.

Isn’t it strange, how he can still hear her voice? When his brain wants to torture him, when he hasn’t been through enough, he’ll hear it. Idiosyncrasies, the way she coughed and cleared her throat, little sticky words that he can’t help but repeat, dirty jokes she’d tell him. Little phrases that linger and stick to the back of his throat and ball up to make the tears spill. When he was with her he remembered how tight his chest and throat felt. How his eyes seemed wide and his cheeks seemed hot and red all the time; how did she not notice, or know something was wrong? When he didn’t care anymore, was she satisfied? When he was just the way she wanted him, did she not realise that he wasn’t the same boy that had smiled and waved cheekily whenever she came around, that made little jokes at her, raised his eyebrows only to be playfully smacked by his brother for it? Did she not notice what she’d done, or did she not care? Her words ring around his head over and over again. He chokes on them and broods over what he’s always thought about everything, ever since he woke up in the hospital with bandages on his wrists.

_Why did you do that to me? I knew you were bad. Why didn’t I protect myself? Why did I stay with you? Why did you make me stay? Did I have a choice? Why did you take advantage of me when I was weak? Why did you hurt me? Did I deserve it? Is it my fault?_

They didn’t hurt at first, like the moment a blade cuts through skin. Of course, there was the shock of it all. Being dragged through the water and up to shore to see the shitstorm of the past eight months before him, from an outsider’s perspective. What he’d been battling exhausted him, battered him and left him in that hospital bed. 

Then the knife was pulled out when he really thought it over in therapy. When he sat there and talked to a woman with a tight pulled bun, realised for the first time what she’d done to him. The severity of it; not just seeing it as an onlooker, knowing it was wrong, _fucked up,_ with the power of hindsight. What it was like to be beneath her during everything. To hear the things she said. The way she treated him, put her hands on him, used his dead brother as leverage. The wound bled, twisted up in pain, and he’s still laying on the floor and bleeding out. He’s been able to cram cotton into the wounds, to stop the mess and maybe keep him alive a little longer, but the doctor and the life-saving stitches are twenty feet away and he has to get there on his own. Frank can’t carry him, he’s too heavy, the blood is too messy and Frank’s got his own wounds to tend for. 

He _has_ to do this himself. He can’t keep relying on everyone else. If he wants to get there, if he wants to be better, he has to do it himself. 

He’s just started crawling and he’s scared it’s too late.


End file.
